The Final Chapter
by EKWTSM9
Summary: For Brigitte...
1. Chapter 1

**For Brigitte...**

Inspector Steve Keller glanced over his shoulder towards the glass-walled inner office as he pulled the form out of his typewriter. The fluorescents illuminating the large bullpen belied the reality that the sun had long ago slipped below the horizon. As he got to his feet, the freshly typed report in his right hand, he twisted his left wrist so he could see the face of his watch. 10:42. With a tired and very audible sigh, he crossed the short expanse of linoleum tile to the glass-paneled door and opened it without knocking.

Lieutenant Mike Stone raised his head slightly from the file he was studying, looking over the top of his black-rimmed reading glasses, his face expressionless.

With a mirthless smile, Steve dropped the report onto the desk as he sunk heavily onto the guest chair, leaning back and crossing his legs before running both hands through his hair.

Chuckling softly, Mike picked up the report and set it on top of the file he'd been reading. He glanced at his own watch. HeH "That took longer than I was expecting."

With another frustrated sigh, Steve uncrossed his legs and sat forward, his elbows on his knees. "Well, I wanted to make sure I got everything in… I really don't want that bastard skating on a technicality."

The older man's smile disappeared. "Yeah, neither do I." His blue eyes flicked down to the report once more. "Listen, ah, why don't you head home, get a good night's sleep. I'll go over this then make sure it gets over to the D.A.'s office."

Steve was already shaking his head. "No, no, no, I'll wait –"

"Steve," the lieutenant cut him off, pinning him with a benevolent glare, "don't make me pull rank, okay? We've both been burning the candle at both ends on this one but it's over, right? You're taking tomorrow off, right? And so am I. So…" He picked up the report for emphasis. "So let me do my job… please… and I promise you I'll go home as soon as I finish."

The younger man was staring at him from under a furrowed brow. After a couple of silent seconds, he closed his eyes briefly and sighed softly. "All right."

Mike smiled affectionately as he watched his partner drag himself to his feet and turn towards the open door. "Enjoy yourself tomorrow," he chuckled as Steve crossed slowly to his desk and picked his jacket up from the back of the chair. "You got plans?"

Slowly shrugging on the brown tweed jacket, Steve turned back towards the office. "A couple of friends have rented a houseboat over in Sausalito; I'm going to join them for the day."

"Sounds fun," Mike called out as the younger man started towards the bullpen door. "Just don't show up with a hangover, okay?"

With a half-hearted wave over his shoulder and a sardonic chuckle, Steve hesitated at the door to the anteroom and looked back. "You sure you don't want me to stay until you finish –?"

"I'm a big boy, Inspector, I've been doing this for a long time. I don't need a babysitter." The older man punctuated his words with a wide-eyed glare and the ghost of a smile through the window of the office.

With a low chuckle and a shake of his head, Steve turned to the door. "Yes, you sure are a big boy…" he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?!"

Laughing audibly now, Steve yelled without looking back. "Nothing!"

Grumbling good-naturedly, Mike watched as the outer door closed behind his partner then, with a tired sigh, turned his attention back to the report in his hand. He leaned back in the swivel chair, putting his right foot on the open lower desk drawer, and began to read.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he was startled by the loud ringing of his black desk phone. With a disgruntled scowl, he leaned forward and picked up the receiver. "Homicide, Stone," he growled, glancing at his watch.

"Mike? Holy hell, I didn't expect you to be in the office at this hour. I was gonna leave a message."

Recognizing the voice, Mike sat up a little straighter, frowning, the report dropping from his hand onto the desk. "Jerry?"

"Yeah, Mike, it's me. It's been a long time."

"Geez, you can say that again." He could feel the blood pounding in his ears and his mouth went dry. An uneasy silence settled over the phone line.

"Ah, listen, ah… you got some time?" The question sounded tentative.

Nodding automatically, Mike leaned over the desk, moving a notebook closer then picking up a pen. "Yeah… yeah, sure, Jerry, what do you need?" he answered almost carefully.

There was another uncomfortable pause and Mike could hear the other man clear his throat.

"I, ah, I think I found him, Mike."

# # # # #

Steve opened the Homicide door and stepped through the small anteroom into the bustling bullpen. Sergeant Dan Healey looked up from his desk and nodded. "Well, good morning. Nice of you to join us," he chuckled, glancing at his partner and shaking his head.

"Yeah," Sergeant Norm Haseejian growled with a gravelly laugh, "must be nice being the boss's partner and setting your own hours."

Steve knew they were joking but that didn't stop him bestowing upon them his best smirk as he crossed to his desk and slipped off his jacket, dropping it onto the back of the chair. As he picked up the few phone messages stuffed under his phone, he glanced towards the inner office. It was unoccupied; the lights were on but the coat rack was empty.

He looked back at the two sergeants. "Mike's not in yet?"

They both shook their heads.

Frowning, Steve quickly glanced through the phone messages, none of which from his partner. He looked up to see Haseejian staring at him with a confused frown. "What?" he shrugged a question.

The Armenian sergeant opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Lieutenant Roy Devitt, a file folder in one hand, entering the bullpen in a rush, almost sliding to a stop in front of the young inspector. "Oh, Steve, hi. Glad you're in. There's a little niggly thing in that Robinson report the D.A. wanted me to ask you about." He grinned. "Perfect timing," he chuckled as he continued on through the bullpen towards the inner office.

Tossing the file onto Mike's desk, he quickly slipped off his jacket and hung it on the rack before crossing behind the desk and sitting. He glanced up and smiled as Steve appeared almost tentatively in the doorway, his brow furrowed.

"Where's Mike?"

Devitt frowned, the smile lingering. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Steve began slowly, "where's my partner?"

The lieutenant sat back slightly, the frown deepening. "You don't know?"

Eyes narrowing, Steve took a step deeper into the small room. "Know what?"

"He's taking the next two weeks off. He called Rudy yesterday morning and told him he was going to be taking the next two weeks off and was going out of town." He paused and cocked his head slightly. "He didn't tell you?"

Steve blinked quickly a couple of times, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to wake himself up. "I, ah, I was on a houseboat over in Sausalito all day yesterday, didn't get home till around midnight."

"Hunh," Devitt grunted, his eyes dropping back to the desk as he opened the file folder, "I thought he woulda left you a message or something…" He glanced up then pointed at the guest chair. "Grab a seat, this won't take long…"

# # # # #

Devitt had been right; it hadn't taken long. Back at his desk, Steve tried to find any clues that Mike might have left to explain the quick and unexpected decision to take a couple of weeks off. He usually saved his vacation time to correspond with his daughter's breaks from university, but Jeannie's summer holiday wasn't going to begin for another three weeks.

_Could something have happened to Jeannie that necessitated his going to Arizona on such short notice? _he wondered. Not likely; Mike would've gotten in touch with him one way or another if that was the case. Jeannie was like Steve's little sister, and Mike knew how much they cared about each other.

He had stopped by the De Haro house that morning on the way in to Bryant Street to see if his partner had wanted a lift, but there had been no answer when he knocked on the door. It was then he realized Mike's familiar blue sedan wasn't parked anywhere on the hilly street so he had just assumed his partner had already left for the Hall.

Getting up quickly, he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and crossed quickly to the inner office door, starting to roll his sleeves down. Devitt looked up. "Ah, listen, Roy, there's a couple of things I need to get done on a case that Mike and I have going that's still open. I'll be gone a couple of hours."

Devitt had started nodding before all the words were out. "Don't think you have to run everything by me. Take whatever time you need. Things are pretty quiet around here right now and, if I'm not mistaken, Dan and Norm are at the top of the list for the next case so…" He shrugged.

Steve smiled as he did up the cuff button of his left sleeve and began to slip into the jacket. "Thanks. I won't be too long."

# # # # #

He dropped heavily onto the couch and looked around the small neat living room one more time. He had let himself into the house with the key Mike had given him long ago. And if he had expected to find anything that would tell him where his partner had disappeared to, he was sorely disappointed. As far as he could tell, a suitcase and some of Mike's clothes were missing, corroborating what Devitt had told him, but there was nothing to indicate where he had gone.

And that was what bothered him more than anything. It was as if his partner, a man he knew so well, probably better than anyone else in his life right now, had deliberately gone out of his way to make sure that he left behind no clue as to where he had gone, or why.

Sighing heavily, Steve leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head. He knew he had to call Jeannie, to see if Mike's daughter could shed some light on what was going on. But he also realized that if Mike had kept Jeannie in the dark as well, his call, coming out of the blue, might only serve to unsettle the young woman so much she could drop everything and come home, for which Mike would be furious.

He sat back and glanced at his watch. It was too early to call; she would probably be in class. With another sigh, he got up and crossed to the front door to let himself out. He had a few hours to come up with a legitimate excuse to call her without tipping his hand. In the meantime, he would head back to the Hall and try to figure out what had happened to make Mike disappear without a word… and without a trace.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve was leaning back in his desk chair, his eyes on the open file folder in his right hand. But he wasn't reading a word.

The bullpen was quiet. Healey and Haseejian were out, having responded to the report of a body discovered in a house in North Beach; the other inspectors and sergeants were busy with their own cases and Devitt was in a meeting with Captain Olsen.

He was pretending to be busy as an excuse to think. It was still too early to give Jeannie Stone a call, in the hopes that in some roundabout way he could find out where her father had disappeared to on such short notice. His eyes slid towards the inner office once again. He tried to remember if there was anything in Mike's demeanor the night before last when he had delivered the report and been sent home, but there was nothing. His partner was his normal self, for all intents and purposes.

So what had happened after he had left that had brought about such drastic action. As his eyes returned to the file folder, they passed over the desk phone. He froze slightly and sat up a little straighter then dropped the folder to the blotter as he leaned over the desk and pulled his Rolodex closer, flipping through the cards quickly, stopping on the one he wanted. He picked up the receiver and stuck it under his left ear against his shoulder and dialed quickly, then reached for his notebook and pen.

"Yes, ah, this is Inspector Keller from Homicide. I need an LUD report for the past 48 hours for the following number." He repeated Mike's home phone number twice. "Yes, thank you. I also need to know if there were any incoming calls to Lieutenant Stone's office phone from 10:30 pm to 4 am two nights ago." He paused as the details were read back to him for verification. "Yes, that's right. Ah, how long do you think that will take?" Another pause. "Great, thank you. Yes, I'll be waiting. Thank you."

He hung up and sat back with a heavy sigh. It wasn't much, but it was something… it was a start.

# # # # #

"Yes… yes, okay I got that, thanks… thank you very much." He hung up and sat back. It hadn't taken long to get the LUDs he needed. There had been no incoming calls to the De Haro house in the past 48 hours but there had been one call to Mike's office at 12:08 two nights ago. He could tell from the area code it was a southern California number, most likely Los Angeles.

Within an hour, he had the address of the house attached to the number, and it wasn't long after that he had the name of the resident. Jessica Renneker. It rang no bells.

Frowning, he stared at the name, trying to decide what to do next. He didn't want to call without knowing the reason why, and for the moment he was at a total loss. There had to be more he could find out, he figured, and went back to work.

By the end of the afternoon, he had accumulated as much information on Jessica Renneker as was humanly possible on such short notice. He sat back with a quiet smile, pleased that he had managed to put together as comprehensive a report so quickly.

Jessica Renneker was a 22-year-old aspiring actress living in a rented apartment in Venice, California, having moved into the quirky L.A. neighbourhood two years earlier. She was single, drove a used red Chevy Chevelle, and had never had so much as a parking ticket. But she did have ties to San Francisco, having grown up in the Richmond area. Her mother was deceased, but her father, Jerome Renneker, was living in Santa Venetia, just north of The City. He was a former San Francisco police officer.

Steve leaned over the desk, leaning on his forearms as he stared at the notes he had made on the legal length yellow pad, trying to settle on a plan of attack. He harrumphed softly.

It seemed unlikely to him that Jessica Renneker had phoned Mike out of the blue, unless she was calling to let him know something about her father. It was not beyond the realm of belief that Mike had known, and had probably even worked with, her father, who had been on the force for almost fifteen years, from 1946-60.

Steve frowned, staring at the name of the former cop, wondering why Jerome Renneker had left after such a short time, and well before any pension would kick in. That might be another avenue he should go down.

Had Jerome Renneker passed away and Mike made the trip to Santa Venetia to give aid and comfort to his family in their time of need? Steve sighed quietly; it was a possibility.

It was becoming obvious to him that he had to make at least one road trip. One of the things he had learned from his mentor was the advantage of face-to-face interaction; it was much easier to discern sincerity and believability while looking into someone's eyes instead of listening to them over a phone line.

With another sigh, he leaned back. The decision seemed to have made itself, he chuckled softly. It seemed much more logical to head up to Santa Venetia, which would take him less than an hour if he was lucky, than all the way downstate to Los Angeles. He glanced at his watch. 5:16. It made no sense to make the trip tonight and, besides, he still wanted to give Jeannie a call.

He looked towards the inner office. Devitt had long ago finished his meeting with the captain and was now back behind Mike's desk, his nose in a file. Steve got up and crossed to the glass door with his partner's name on it, tapping the glass softly with his right index finger. Devitt looked up, frowning slightly, then smiled and waved the younger man in.

"Ah, listen, Roy," Steve began tentatively, stepping into the room. "Ah, I know things are quiet around here right now… and Bill and Lee are wrapping up that Goldberg case so they're gonna be free… and seeing that Mike's on leave… Well, I was thinking –"

"That you'd like to take some time off while Mike is out too?" Devitt cut him off gently with a warm smile.

After a brief moment of confusion, Steve nodded, "Ah, yeah… if that's okay?"

"I thought you might suggest that. As a matter of fact, I spoke to Rudy about it and he said to give you the green light if you brought it up." He paused slightly as the younger man's eyes widened in surprise, and raised his right forefinger. "But we can only give you a week. We don't want to be two men down any longer than that. Does that give you enough time?"

"Ah, yeah, sure…" Steve frowned and cocked his head slightly. "Enough time for what?" he asked hesitantly.

Devitt's ghost of a smile stretched wider. "Enough time to find Mike… That's what you're trying to do, right?"

The inspector froze, unblinking, knowing he'd been caught out. He snorted softly and shook his head, looking down. "It's that obvious?"

Devitt shrugged. "Well, we're all detectives here, aren't we? It would be pretty pathetic if we couldn't figure each other out once in awhile." He laughed softly. "Listen, ah, I don't think it's anything nefarious – Mike taking off without telling anyone where he was going. But, ah, look, if you find him, give us a call and let us know everything's okay, will ya?"

Steve nodded with a grateful smile. "Yeah… yeah, I will. Thanks, Roy." He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him, and crossed to his desk. Less than ten minutes later he was standing at the curb on Bryant Street in front of the Hall, trying to hail a cab home.

# # # # #

"Hello?"

"Jeannie, hi, it's Steve!" He was determined to keep his tone light right from the start so as not to spook her.

"Steve… ah, hi!" She sounded pleased but a little skeptical.

"Yeah, listen, ah, sorry to call you out of the blue, it's nothing bad. I just need your opinion on something and I don't want your Dad to know." He had been thinking about this all day, an excuse to call Mike's daughter without tipping his hand.

"My opinion? My opinion on what?"

"Well, you know your Dad a lot better than I do, of course. Listen, ah, this may sound, I don't know… silly, I guess. But it's going to be our fifth anniversary in a couple of weeks – your Dad and me – and I want to get him something to commemorate it… you know, something like a wallet or… I don't know, something… Anyway, I thought maybe I could pick your brain for suggestions."

"Your fifth anniversary? Wow, time really flies, doesn't it?" She sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, it sure does. Anyway, I hate to put you on the spot like this, but I was wondering if you had any ideas. I mean, you know, off the top of your head. Or maybe you want to think about it for a bit and call me back…?"

There was a short pause and he could almost hear her thinking. "No, no, I, ah… I… Humh," she snorted with a short laugh, "maybe your right. This might take some time. He's not the easiest guy to buy something for, that's for sure. I always have a hard time figuring out what to get him for his birthday or Christmas… Humh, let's see…" There was another short pause.

Sensing his opportunity, Steve jumped in with feigned gravity. "And for god's sake, don't tell him, okay? Not even in the vaguest terms. I want it to be a surprise."

She laughed. "Oh, don't worry about that, I can keep a secret, believe me. Besides, I won't see him again until I get home for the summer and that'll be after your _anniversary_."

He could almost hear the air quotes around that last word and he laughed. But his mind was racing. She had just, inadvertently, told him that Mike wasn't down there with her; now he had to somehow find out if she knew where he was.

"And I'm up to my eyeballs in exam prep right now so phone calls are going to be kept at a premium so I don't get _distracted_," she chuckled. "His rules, not mine."

He shared the laugh; he knew only too well Mike's concern that his daughter take her studies seriously. And he also knew that Jeannie would do anything to make her father proud, and that she took his benevolent solicitousness with cheerful goodwill.

"Well, ah, in that regard," he continued with a knowing chuckle, "I better let you go. Look, ah, give it some thought, okay, and give me a call if you think of anything? Like I said, I was kind of thinking of going with a nice new wallet – that one he has now has seen better days – but if you can think of anything else, I welcome the suggestion, okay?"

"You know, I think a wallet is a great idea, I really do."

"Cool, thanks, yeah, I'll look around for a really nice one and let you know. So, ah, you keep that cute little nose of yours to the grindstone, right? Make your Dad proud."

He could hear her soft and happy laugh. "Oh, you got it. Can't disappoint the old man now, can I?"

"You never could, Jeannie, you know that, right?"

Her laughter faded slightly, becoming almost self-conscious. "Yeah, I know," she agreed quietly, "Look, ah, I'd tell you to give him my love but then he'd know you called me so… you know…"

He chuckled affectionately. "Yeah, I know." He tried to keep his voice even but he was nodding to himself; she had just told him she didn't know her father was out of town. "Listen, ah, you nail those exams, you hear? And I'll see you in a few weeks."

"You got it… thanks. Great to hear your voice, Steve. And good luck with that wallet – it's a great idea, it really is."

"Thanks. Goodbye, Jeannie."

"'Bye, Steve." The line went dead.

Steve put the receiver on the cradle and sank back onto his couch. He picked the beer bottle up from the endtable beside him and took a sip. He knew what his next move was now; he was taking a road trip to Santa Venetia in the morning.

Where were you, Mike Stone?


	3. Chapter 3

The gold Porsche turned onto Crestview Drive and crept slowly down the tree-lined residential street, its driver obviously looking for a number. It slowed in front of a small, modest but well-kept bungalow with a short driveway and a freshly cut front lawn. There was an older model Chrysler sedan parked under the carport.

Steve swung the sports car close to the curb and turned the engine off. He stared at the house for several long beats before opening the door and getting out. He was dressed as he would be for any typical day on the job but had eschewed the tie for the day. He glanced up and down the quiet street as he walked up the driveway and along the small stone path to the dark wood front door. He pressed the doorbell.

"Just a minute!" a deep gravelly voice bellowed from inside and there were a couple of loud thuds before the door eventually opened. A heavyset older man, wearing a white t-shirt over his ample paunch, dark blue flannel pajama bottoms and slippers, and leaning heavily on a cane, glared at him from under bushy grey eyebrows. "Who are you?" he growled.

Far less intimidated than he would have been even a couple of years ago, Steve smiled warmly as he dug into his right pants pocket and pulled out his badge and I.D. "Inspector Steve Keller, San Francisco Homicide." He stared straight into the rheumy brown eyes that continued to stare at him almost belligerently.

The standoff continued for a couple of silent seconds before the brown eyes softened slightly and a smirk began to curl the thin lips. "Humh," he harrumphed, "I bet you're Mike Stone's partner, aren't you?"

Steve's smile got a little wider. "Yes, sir, I am," he nodded, slipping the star back into his pocket.

"And I bet you know who I am, right?"

"Yes, sir, I do, Mr. Renneker."

Continuing to stare almost unblinkingly, the older man took an unsteady step backwards. "Well then I guess you better come in. I'm sure you've got questions." Renneker turned away from the door and moved slowly back into the house.

Steve stepped over the threshold, closing the heavy front door behind him before crossing the small, neat living room to the sofa. Renneker was already carefully lowering himself onto a large, well-worn recliner with a groan, bending slightly to lay his cane on the floor at his feet.

Steve glanced up at the noisy game show on the TV as he started to sit on the sofa.

"Do me a favour, will ya?" Renneker said quickly before the younger man could settle onto the couch. He gestured toward the TV. "Turn that thing off, will ya? It'll make it easier to talk."

"Sure," Steve agreed, crossing to the small colour set and turning the knob. The noise disappeared as the screen went blank.

"So, ah, what exactly brings you here, Inspector?" Renneker asked as he watched the cop return to the sofa and sit.

Steve swallowed a smile. He knew what the former cop was doing, something that Mike was so adept at. Chances are Renneker knew exactly why he was there but wanted to know what the younger man was aware of before he would answer any questions.

Clearing his throat softly, Steve leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Ah, three nights ago, Mike got a late night call from your daughter and, ah… well, he hasn't been seen since. And I'd like to know what that call was all about and if you know where he is." His green eyes were boring into the intense brown ones staring back at him. He had decided to lay all his cards on the table at once; he had nothing to lose, he figured.

Renneker continued to stare without moving for several very long seconds, as if sizing the young man up; then, surprisingly, he smiled. "You come straight to the point, don't ya?" There was more than a little admiration in his tone. "That something Mike taught you?"

Relaxing, Steve sat back and laughed. "Probably… He's taught me a lot of things."

Renneker snorted congenially. "I don't doubt that. Well, you've got some of your facts wrong there, young fella –" He stopped himself, his right index finger coming up quickly to point at the sofa. "Steve, right?"

The other man nodded with a smile.

"Well, Steve, Mike did get a call that night, but it wasn't from my daughter, it was from me. I was down there visiting her." He lowered his head and stared at his guest from under a heavy brow. "But you figured that out already, didn't you?"

Steve cocked his head and shrugged slightly. "Well, I sort of assumed that but I wasn't sure."

With a grimace, as if in pain, Renneker leaned forward in the recliner. "And you say you haven't seen Mike since that night?"

Steve shook his head.

"He didn't talk to you or leave you a note or anything?" Renneker almost sounded concerned. The younger man felt his heart begin to pound. With a sigh, the older man dropped his head and sagged back in the chair. "Goddamn it, I was hoping he wouldn't go off and do something stupid. I told him he should talk to his partner about it first." He seemed to be mumbling to himself.

"About what?"

Renneker's head came up. "Have you ever heard the name Brigitte Larson?"

Frowning, Steve shook his head.

"Well, there's no reason you should have. It was a long, long time ago. You were probably just starting to go to school when it happened. 1949 to be exact."

Steve leaned forward again, every sense on full alert.

"Mike and I were still kinda new to the force then, we'd both joined up after the war. I was two Academy classes ahead of him and I really didn't know him. I'd just seen him in passing, you know. By '49 I was a patrol officer in a cruiser and he was walking a beat in the Tenderloin with Gus Charnovski - Did you know Gus?"

Steve shook his head. "I never got the pleasure."

Renneker looked down, his strong features softening. "Gus was a legend, you know… one of the best. It was a damn shame what happened to him…"

"It sure was…" Steve agreed softly.

The older man looked up. "I bet Mike took that pretty bad…"

The young detective nodded. "Yeah, it, ah… it was a rough time…"

Renneker nodded sadly then he smiled and chuckled. "My training officer was a guy named Boomer Sullivan. You know, I'm pretty sure Boomer wasn't his real first name, but none of us rookies ever had the balls to ask him what it really was, so we all just called him Boomer." They shared a laugh then Renneker sobered.

"Anyway, that morning Mike and Gus got called to a flophouse on Turk. My partner and I arrived soon after…" He paused and looked down. "I'll never forget it." His voice sounded far away. "It, ah, it was the body of a young girl… sixteen. She'd been raped and murdered… strangled…" He paused and took a deep breath. Steve didn't move.

"It was the first time I'd seen something like that… Mike too. Gus and Boomer, they, ah, they were able to hold it together but I know Mike and we were both pretty shook."

"And that was Brigitte Larson?"

Closing his eyes, the retired cop nodded. "She was a pretty little thing… blond, blue eyes. An only child…" He sighed heavily and fell silent. Steve waited patiently.

Eventually Renneker shook his head and looked up; the Homicide detective was looking at him understandingly. He smiled dryly. "Well, you know the routine, the detectives showed up and took over and, you know, Mike and Gus went back out on the streets and Boomer and I got back into our car and that was it. But it stuck with us, Mike and me. We both followed the investigation, even though we had nothing to do with it anymore."

"Was anyone ever arrested for it?" Steve asked softly.

Renneker nodded. "Yeah… yeah, and that's when the problems started."

"What problems?"

"Well, the detectives, they were good at their job those guys. It didn't take them long to figure out that it wasn't some violent drug addict in the 'Loin that pulled some poor girl off the street and violated her. It turned out to be a high school kid from over in Pacific Heights. His name was Jeffrey Lonsdale. He was 17. And that's when it all began to fall apart…" Renneker snorted derisively.

"What do you mean?"

Looking up, the older man hesitated. "Hey, ah, before we get into that, can I get you a cup a coffee or a beer or something?"

Smiling, Steve shook his head. "No, thanks, I'm okay. Unless you want something?"

"No, no, I'm good, I'm good." Renneker smiled almost warmly. "So, ah, Jeffrey Lonsdale…" He snorted again, this time with barely controlled fury. "The Homicide guys, they had this kid dead to rights: fingerprints, bloody clothing, bloody shoes, the whole works…" He looked up at Steve, his eyes flashing anger. "They were all set to go to trial when some… some do-gooders I guess you could call 'em, they said he was too young to be tried as an adult, that he was just a kid, you know…"

He shook his head angrily and clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. "Just a kid, yeah, right…" He met Steve's stare, his brown eyes blazing. "A kid who could rape and strangle a young girl and dump her body in a sleazy drug den as if she was just a piece a garbage…" He took a couple of deep breaths and struggled for control.

"What happened?" Steve asked quietly.

Renneker chuckled mirthlessly. "Well, while the powers that be held meetings to decide in what court they were gonna try the little scrumbag, he was let out on bail, in his parents custody. And Mr. and Mrs. Lonsdale decided they didn't want their little darling to face a judge and jury to pay for his crime. They were pretty well off, you see… I mean, come on, they were living in Pacific Heights, right? So without anybody knowing they got their little darling a passport and before anyone knew it, Jeffrey Lonsdale was on a plane to the Philippines. We don't have an extradition treaty with the Philippines."

Steve stared at the older man, his brows knit. "So he never went to trial?"

The older man shook his head sadly. "That little bastard hasn't spent any time behind bars for murdering Brigitte Larson… not one second…" He smiled sardonically. "He'd be 43 now… and he's spent every moment of those 43 years a free man." He dropped his head and closed his eyes. "And she'da been 42."

Steve waited, knowing there was more to come. When Renneker raised his head again, his eyes were moist. "Her parents didn't take it too well, when Lonsdale went on the lam. And who could blame them. They didn't blame the department, thank god, but my god they were mad at the D.A.'s office… Well, at least the husband was. Mrs. Larson, she, ah, I guess she had other demons. She killed herself about five years after the murder… overdosed on sleeping pills." He took a deep breath. "Her husband, he hung on for a few more years. He stayed in the house Brigitte had grown up in, the house his wife killed herself in… but I guess it took its toll. I heard he died of a heart attack a couple of years back." He fell silent, his unfocused gaze on the floor in front of the recliner.

"So, ah," Steve finally ventured softly and he watched Renneker blink quickly a couple of times, "so what happened to make you call Mike the other night?" He thought he knew the answer already but he had to ask.

Renneker looked up slowly and met the compassionate gaze evenly. "I saw him, Steve. Jeffrey Lonsdale. I saw him in Venice."


	4. Chapter 4

Continuing to stare into the almost defiant brown eyes boring into his own, Steve inhaled deeply, held it, then asked quietly, "Are you sure it was him?"

Renneker blinked slowly then nodded almost imperceptibly. "I'm, ah… well, I can't prove it, of course… but in my gut I know it was him…"

"And that's what you told Mike?'

The older man nodded. "He and I talked about the case a lot when it was going on. We never worked together, were hardly ever on the same shift, and he moved up the ranks a lot faster than I did. But that first year, especially those first few months after Lonsdale left the country, we'd get together every once in awhile and see if we could come up with a way to find him and get him back." He snorted melancholically. "We were, ah, kind a cock-eyed optimists, I guess you could call us. We thought we could maybe, I don't know, right a wrong…" He paused and sighed. "But then the years went by… and nothing happened… and life went on… and Brigitte Larson was forgotten…"

"What happened to Lonsdale's parents? Were they charged with aiding and abetting?"

Renneker's snort with filled with derision and anger. "You're kidding, right?" Steve shrugged. "You know the answer to that one. Have you ever heard of rich parents getting in trouble for helping out their little felons…? Of course not. And, to be perfectly honest, I lost track of them several years ago. I know they moved out of Pacific Heights. I'd heard the neighbors didn't particularly like the negative attention the Lonsdale family was bringing to the area; you can't blame 'em. So the Lonsdales sold their place and got out. But I wasn't a cop anymore and I didn't keep track of them so I don't know where they are. Maybe I shoulda, hunh?"

Steve, who was hanging on every word, nodded softly. "If, ah, if you don't mind my asking, why did you leave the force so early?"

Renneker looked at him gently and a wave of sadness washed over his strong features. He glanced down at the cane lying on the floor beside his chair. "Well, that really wasn't my call. April of '60 my wife and I were coming home from one of our rare dates," he smiled warmly to himself. "We'd managed to find a night where we could get a babysitter and go out to dinner and a movie. We were going through the lights at Market and Hyde when a drunk speeding down Market t-boned us in the intersection…" He paused and took a deep unsteady breath. "My wife was killed instantly. I had a broken back, broken pelvis, fractured ribs… I was in the hospital for almost six months…" He looked up at the younger man and smiled mirthlessly. "I haven't been able to walk properly since so, ah, so the decision to leave the force was not mine to make, I'm afraid…"

Steve nodded softly. "I'm, ah, I'm sorry –"

"Hey," Renneker cut him off gently, "you got nothing to be sorry about. It happened a long time ago." An uneasy silence lengthened between them, then Renneker cleared his throat and struggled to get to his feet. Steve half rose to help but the older man waved him back. "Stay down," he chuckled amiably as he leaned forward to pick up the cane and push himself up, "I've been doing this for a long time, I think I got the hang of it."

Shuffling as quickly as he could, Renneker disappeared into the kitchen, emerging seconds later with a manila file folder in one hand. He held it out for Steve to take as he dropped heavily into the recliner again.

Frowning, Steve opened the folder then looked back at the retired SFPD officer, his face a question.

"I've had that for years, as you can probably tell. Mike's got one too. I figure I won't need it anymore and I think you could use it right now. It's got everything you need to know – the bar I saw him in, what time it was, all that crap. I just updated it."

Steve's eyes had slid back to the contents of the folder; at the photocopies of reports, foolscap papers filled with notes, and a coloured 5x7 mug shot of a striking looking young man with an irritating smirk. He glanced up at Renneker. "Lonsdale?"

"The one and only. That's, ah, that's why I'm pretty sure it was him I saw in Venice a few days ago. You can change a lot of things about your appearance in fifteen years, I know that. But you can't change the colour of your eyes… at least I don't think so."

Steve stared at the mug shot, at the thin handsome face with the insouciant smile, the short, obviously styled dark hair, and the startlingly grey eyes. "And this guy you saw in Venice… he had grey eyes?"

Renneker nodded. "Yeah. My daughter and I were in this bar on Washington Blvd. having a beer and a burger when this guy comes in. I didn't pay much attention to him at first, he seemed like a local. The bartender knew him, offered him 'the usual', you know how they do?" Steve nodded. "The waitress came over to our table to see if we needed another beer and he glanced over our way and that's when I saw 'em… the grey eyes."

Renneker fell silent, his gaze turning inward. "In an instant, everything came flashing back. I just froze, I couldn't breathe. Even my daughter asked me what was wrong. I think she thought I might be having a heart attack or something. I, ah, I think I pulled myself together quick enough so nobody else noticed, but then I spent the rest of our time there trying to check him out without my daughter noticing." He looked at Steve and shrugged almost self-consciously.

"So, what made you think it was Lonsdale?"

"Other than the eyes?"

Steve nodded, closing the folder and putting it on the couch beside him.

"Well, he seemed to be the right age… early 40's, and even though he was sitting on a barstool, he seemed about the right height and build. He's got a beard, salt and pepper, and there's some grey in his hair but it's still mostly dark brown, like Lonsdale's was." He snorted. "But something in my gut, Steve, kept telling me this was the same guy… this was Jeffrey Lonsdale."

"And that's why you called Mike…"

Renneker nodded. "Yeah. Hell, I'm in no condition to go after him, but I knew Mike was still on the force, and I kinda figured he'd want to know…" He smiled slightly. "I was right."

With a brief nod and his own tight smile, Steve asked, "So, ah, seeing as he didn't confide anything in me…" he paused to emphasize his words, "did he give you any idea of what he was going to do?"

The older man shook his head. "No… No, he was pretty tight-lipped about it, but I did get the feeling that he was going to head down to Venice as soon as he could. I was just hoping he would take someone with him… like his partner." He looked at Steve and shrugged.

"Do you think Lonsdale could be dangerous?"

Renneker's eyes narrowed. "Well, he didn't look dangerous to me but I only saw him in that bar that one time and you and I both know you can't really judge how unhinged someone can be just by looking at 'em."

"Yeah, that's for sure."

"But he's been on the run for about fifteen years now… and if that's him, if he really is back, then he must be feeling pretty confident that no one's gonna recognize him. But I don't think that means he's gonna be letting his guard down anytime soon. I said that to Mike, and he agreed. But, ah, if I knew how he was going to proceed with the information I gave him, if he'd given me any indication, Steve, I'd tell you. You gotta believe me on that."

"Oh, I do… I do…" Steve was nodding slowly to himself, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, trying to sort through this sudden flood of new information. He sat back suddenly and dropped his hands to his thighs with a clap. "Well, I guess I know what I've gotta do now, right? I guess I'm heading down to Venice, see if I can find Mike before he does something… he'll regret." Images of his partner, gun in hand, standing over Cal Fisher in an empty BART station and going after Leonard Cord in his own office, flashed through his mind.

Picking up the file folder, Steve got to his feet. "Well, I better head back to The City if I want to get started for LA. I guess time is of the essence right now." He hefted the folder in his hand. "Thanks for this and, ah, for all the other information."

"You're very welcome, young fella," Renneker smiled, starting to get up.

"No, no, it's okay," Steve said quickly, waving him back down, "I can find my way out."

Picking up his cane and getting out of the chair, Renneker growled good-naturedly, "You drove all the way up here to see me, the least I can do is walk you to your car. Besides, I gotta get some exercise today or my daughter'll kill me. Even though she lives all the way down there in Venice, she'll know, believe me, she'll know."

Steve chuckled as he started slowly towards the front door. "Thank you for being so honest with me, Mr. Renneker –"

"Jerry," Renneker almost snapped with a dry chuckle, "okay? Jerry. For god's sake, you're one of the brethren, right? So it's Jerry, okay?"

Steve grinned as he opened the front door and stepped over the threshold. "Okay."

"Listen, ah, I want you to promise that you'll give me a call when you find Mike… you know, let me know what's going on? Let me know if I was right? Okay?"

"You bet," Steve agreed as they started to cross the small lawn to the curb.

Renneker's eyes had finally fallen on the sports car parked in front of his house. His brow furrowed and he turned to the younger man with an open mouth. "Is that _your _Porsche?" He sounded flabbergasted.

Chuckling self-consciously, Steve nodded. "Yes, it is."

"What are they paying you guys down in The City nowadays? What's Mike driving? A Rolls?"

Laughing, Steve fished the keys out of his pocket as he crossed around the low-slung car to the driver's door. "It's old, it's secondhand and I'll be paying for it for the rest of my life." He opened the door, leaning in to toss the file folder on the passenger seat. "Thanks again, Jerry," he said over the roof of the car, "I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome, son," Renneker said with a melancholic smile. "And, ah, don't forget to call me when you find Mike… okay?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah… yeah, I will." He got in behind the wheel and the engine roared to life.

Renneker watched until the burnished gold Porsche turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

# # # # #

Steve dropped heavily onto the sofa, a cold beer in one hand and the phone book in the other. He dropped the heavy yellow tome onto the coffee table and opened it, quickly finding the page he needed. He picked up the receiver and stuck it under his ear against his shoulder, managing to take another sip of beer while dialing.

Several minutes later, his errand complete, he sat back and picked up the file folder that Renneker had given him. As he waited for the pizza he had ordered almost an hour ago to be delivered, he started to work his way painstakingly through the pages of reports, forms, handwritten notes and photographs.

He wanted to be absolutely sure he knew as much about the Larson/Lonsdale case as possible before he boarded the early morning flight to Los Angeles.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve Keller climbed out of the back seat of the Yellow Cab, dragging his flight bag behind him, and slammed the door. He stuffed the receipt into his jacket pocket as he squinted behind his dark glasses in the blazing sunlight. As the cab pulled away, he dropped the bag onto the sidewalk, shrugged out of his sportscoat and rolled up his sleeves.

It was just after ten o'clock in the morning, and already Pacific Avenue was bustling with locals and tourists, most of them dressed for the beach. Two comely young women, wearing brightly coloured sarongs over their bikini bottoms, eyed him coyly as they floated past. He returned the interested stare with a smile that dripped charm, delighted to hear their throaty laughter and see their backward glances.

Chuckling to himself, he picked up the flight bag, trying to decide which way to turn. He had figured out what he wanted to do and where he needed to go. But his first priority was to find a place to leave his bag for the day; he had plans, or so he hoped, for the night.

He spotted a small diner on the other side of the street and jaywalked across the busy avenue. There was one customer sitting at the counter when he dropped his bag onto an empty seat and sat across from it in a small booth near the large front windows. Almost immediately a middle-aged waitress, a coffee pot in one hand and a menu in the other, was at his elbow, filling the large white mug that was already on the table.

Surprised, he flinched slightly as he looked up and she grinned at him. "Sorry, honey, I didn't mean to startle you. You just looked like you could use a good strong cup a joe. Am I right?"

He chuckled and nodded. "I think you're absolutely right. Thank you." He took his dark glasses off and stuffed them in his shirt pocket.

She finished filling the mug, nodding towards his bag as she straightened up. "You just get to town?"

He nodded.

"Business or pleasure?" She asked as she placed the menu on the table in front of him. She had such a warm and inviting demeanor that he felt instantly comfortable in her presence.

He cocked his head and smiled ruefully. "Business, I'm afraid," he admitted, his eyes scanning the breakfast menu.

"Anything I can tempt you with?"

"How's your bagel and lox?" he asked, looking up at her with a cheeky grin.

"Like we imported it from New York," she said with a sassy laugh as she picked up the menu and began to turn away.

"With a schmeer?" he chuckled as she walked back towards the counter.

"Is there any other way?!" she called over her shoulder, her infectious laughter filling the small restaurant.

Laughing, Steve looked out the window, watching the steady stream of people passing by, most of them, from the looks of it, heading towards the world famous beach. His smile disappeared. He looked down at the table and picked up the coffee cup. As he took a sip, his eyes traveled around the diner again. This was the kind of place Mike would patronize for breakfast, he thought.

He put the cup down and reached into his right pants pocket for his wallet. By the time the waitress returned with his bagel, lox, cream cheese, capers and onion, he had a small colour photo in his hand. "Thanks," he said with a smile as she put the plate on the table in front of him. "Ah, can you tell me if you've seen this man in here for breakfast in the past couple of days?"

With a slight frown, the waitress took the photo and brought it closer to her face, slipping her reading glasses down from the top of her head and peering through them. She grimaced and shook her head. "No, sorry, honey, I haven't," she said almost sadly as she handed the small photo of he and Mike back. "He a friend of yours?"

Steve nodded as he put the picture back in his wallet. "Yeah."

"You looking for him?"

"Yeah… yeah, he came down here a couple of days ago… unexpectedly. I just want to find him and make sure he's okay."

"Well, good luck." She smiled warmly. "Enjoy your breakfast."

The bagel was as good as she'd said and he had just put his used napkin on the empty plate when she reappeared with the bill, setting it face down on the table near his elbow. He looked up and smiled. "Say, ah, I'd like to find someplace to leave my bag for the day while I look for my friend. Is there someplace around here that has lockers for rent?"

"Oh, sure. The bus station. It's just a couple of blocks that way." She pointed to the right. "You can't miss it."

"Thanks," he said, getting to his feet, taking out his wallet and leaving some bills on the table as he grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

She picked up the bills, immediately noticing the very generous tip. "Hey, ah," she called after him and he stopped, his hand on the door handle. "Thanks. And good luck finding your friend."

He grinned and nodded. "Thanks."

She watched as he stepped out into the heat and the sunshine and disappeared from view.

# # # # #

He found the bus station without any problem and located the bank of small lockers. There were several with keys still in the locks and, wanting to make sure he had one when he returned, stuck the required number of quarters in the slot, locked the door and took the key.

He found the men's room and entered a stall, carefully setting the flight bag on the toilet. He took off his jacket and shirt, hanging them up on the back of the door, and opened the bag.

When he emerged a few minutes later, he was wearing a rather loud sky blue, green and white short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt, an LA Dodgers baseball cap and Adidas sneakers. He returned to the locker and stuffed the flight bag inside then, stepping back out into the bright Southern California sunshine, took his dark glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. Then, turning to his left, he started down the increasingly crowded sidewalk.

He knew where he was going and he knew what he wanted to do. He was going hunting.

# # # # #

Hiraro's was a funky little bar just off the main strip; from the outside, it looked like the kind of place that welcomed tourists as well as locals. A small sandwich board on the sidewalk near the front door boasted the best burgers and coldest beer in town.

Loitering on the sidewalk a half block away on the other side of the street, Steve glanced at his watch. 2:15. It was too early for the regular evening crowd to start arriving, and well before the six to six-fifteen timeframe that Renneker had clocked when the man he thought was Jeffrey Lonsdale had appeared.

Once more his eyes raked the street, looking for Mike's dark blue sedan. He had already strolled casually past several of the small hotels and motels in the area, checking out the cars in the parking lots, with no luck. He still had several more to go.

With a sigh, he started off in the opposite direction he had come, vowing to be back at Hiraro's well before six so he could observe everyone coming and going. The giggling of a small pack of lovely young women on their way to the beach caught his attention and he turned to see several of them looking at him over their shoulders. He paused, lifting his dark glasses and flashing a smile, and they giggled again, glancing at each other and grinning.

Shaking his head, he dropped his glasses back onto his nose as he turned and continued down the street, chuckling. As serious as his reason for being here was, Venice definitely had its fringe benefits.

# # # # #

Still batting zero, Steve slowly made his way back towards Hiraro's shortly after 4. He slowed his already somewhat languid pace about two blocks away from the popular little pub, his eyes continuing to scan the street.

He knew how his partner's mind worked. He knew Mike would take his time, reconnoiter the area for as long as it took to locate his quarry, learn his routine as best he could, and make sure all his ducks were in a row before making his move. It had only been a couple of days; chances were Mike had yet to strike. But with each passing minute, Steve realized it was becoming increasingly important that Mike be found before he did.

Almost subconsciously, his right hand went to his back pants pockets and he touched the mug photo of Jeffrey Lonsdale through the denim of his jeans. It was rapidly becoming a talisman for him, he thought with a dry chuckle.

Exhaling loudly, he looked up and down the street again. There were precious few empty parking spaces on the busy street. He tried to figure out where Mike would position himself to give him the best view of Hiraro's front door. The bar was in the middle of a short block, and could be seen from the corners of both sidestreets as well as for several hundred yards up and down the street it was on.

With an almost frustrated sigh, he turned around, deciding to circle the block he was already on and approach the bar from the other direction.

# # # # #

Tanned, good-looking young men, most of them blond and all of them carrying surfboards, crowded the narrow sidewalks of the sidestreet as Steve made his way around the block. He had never been to Venice before and the vibe he was getting from the small Los Angeles suburb was, he found, very appealing. After all this was over, he thought, he might have to make another trip down here for a vacation.

He had rounded the corner and was on his way back towards Hiraro's when he spotted it. A very familiar dark blue sedan was parked at the curb on the far side of the street. He could tell right away that it was in the perfect location to see the bar entrance without being obvious about it, and he smiled to himself.

He took a deep steadying breath, exhaling loudly, mostly in relief, then started across the street. He knew Mike's attention would be on the bar, and if he could manage to avoid being noticed in the passenger side mirror, he hoped he could approach the car unnoticed.

There were fewer people on the other side of the street and he cursed his luck. He tried to work out just how much of the sidewalk would be reflected in the side mirror, debating whether he should hug the buildings or the curb. He opted for the buildings, which also gave him the option of pretending to window shop and keeping his face partially hidden until he was close enough to the car to cross to the passenger side door.

His heart started to pound a little harder as he reached for the handle, hoping the door was unlocked. There was resistance as his thumb pressed the button and he heard the latch disengage. He yanked the door open.


	6. Chapter 6

Trying to swallow a grin, Steve ducked quickly and almost threw himself onto the front passenger seat of the dark blue Ford, focusing as quickly as he could on the driver's face. The blue eyes that were taking him in were neither surprised nor angry. Sporting a three-day stubble under a black Giants cap, Mike was expressionless. Steve's smile wavered and disappeared.

"You might want to brush up on your stalking skills if you intend to sneak up on anybody else in the near future," the older man intoned dryly.

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "What, you saw me coming?"

"From the second you crossed the street. Even with your, ah, disguise…" Mike smiled slightly as he turned slowly to look through the windshield towards Hiraro's again.

The younger man watched him silently for a few seconds, frowning slightly. "You're not surprised to see me?"

"Should I be?" Mike asked almost casually without turning his head. "Actually, I think you did pretty good. I thought it was going to take a little longer."

Steve's frown deepened and he sunk a little lower in the seat. "Well, it's not like you left me a trail of bread crumbs, you know… I had to do a some digging." He could see Mike begin to smile.

"What did you do, pull my LUDs?" His eyes remained on the bar.

Steve, whose own eyes were now snapping back and forth between the back of his partner's head and the view through the windshield, nodded feebly. "Yeah…"

"And you went up to Santa Venetia to talk to Jerry?"

"Yeah…"

Mike chuckled but didn't turn.

"What, did he call you or something?"

The older man shook his head. "Nope, but I know you… I know how your mind works." He finally looked across the front seat, meeting Steve's furrowed brow with an affectionate warmth. "I'm glad you're here."

The wrinkled brow and mild irritation melting away, Steve smiled with a wry snort, leaning forward slightly to reach into his back pocket. He dropped Lonsdale's mugshot on the seat between them. "So, have you seen him yet?"

Mike's smile disappeared and he shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, I've staked out the place for the last two nights and I haven't seen anybody that looks even the remotest like him go in or out… but I haven't gone inside myself. Didn't want to tip my hand too early… and I've got some time to kill so..." He shrugged slightly, sounding discouraged.

Steve smiled encouragingly. "Well, we've got two sets of eyes on the place now so…"

After a brief pause, Mike grinned and nodded. "Yeah, we do. Thanks…"

"You're welcome," Steve replied with a chuckle as he turned his head to look through the windshield.

Mike watched him for a couple of seconds before, swallowing heavily, his eyes drifted back towards the bar. After another brief silence, he asked, "So where did you park your car?"

"Oh, ah, I didn't drive. I flew down this morning."

"You flew?" Mike's eyebrows had shot up but he didn't turn his head.

"Yep. I figured it would be a lot faster. I wanted to make sure I had more time to… you know, find you before…"

"Before I did something I might regret later?" Mike finished for him gently.

Steve, continuing to stare out the windshield, cleared his throat self-consciously.

The older man chuckled. "Don't worry, I've had enough time to cool down. I promise I'll be cool, calm and collected when I tear the little bastard limb from limb."

Steve's eyes snapped to his partner's face, and he could see that Mike was smiling.

He waited a couple of beats before asking, "So, do you really think Jerry saw him?"

His partner shook his head slowly with a mild shrug. "I don't know… but I think I have to give him the benefit of the doubt and check it out. I mean, you know, he can't… and this case has been so cold for so many years it would take too long for anybody new to get up to speed." He glanced down at the mugshot. "Did Jerry give you his file?"

"Yeah."

"So, ah, so you think you're up to speed?"

"I think so. I'm still vague on a couple of things. Like I know you and Jerry weren't really involved with the case, that you were both just patrol officers then, but did you ever have a one-on-one interaction with Lonsdale?"

Mike glanced over, impressed and pleased that his young partner had so obviously done his homework so quickly. "I never talked to him, if that's what you mean, but I was in the courtroom when he was arraigned. A lot of people were… there was a lot of anger in The City then. It was a pretty high profile case… until everything went belly up."

"So Lonsdale doesn't know who you are?"

Mike shrugged slightly, still looking towards the bar. "I wouldn't think so."

"So, ah, so why the stubble?" Steve asked lightly.

Almost automatically Mike's right hand came up and he stroked his chin, smiling. "Oh, ah, I figured I wanted to look a little more like a beach bum and a little less like a cop." He looked across the front seat. "What do you think?"

Grinning, Steve chuckled. "So long as you don't start looking like a vagrant. It's a fine line, you know…"

Mike joined in the laughter before looking back through the windshield.

"So, ah, have you decided what you want to do if, or when, you do spot him?"

The older man inhaled deeply, raising his shoulders. He exhaled quickly and let his shoulders drop then shook his head. "Yeah… yeah I have. I think the most important thing is that this gets done with a minimum of… fuss and bother, like my Mom used to say. I want to make sure that we dot every i and cross every t – 'cause I don't want that bastard to get away this time, for any reason."

"Sounds good."

"So we do this by the book. This is not our jurisdiction, and we have absolutely no authority here. So if we spot him, and we're a hundred percent sure it's him, then we go to the LAPD – I have a couple of contacts here – and we bring them in on it. We let them make the arrest, and then we bring the little bastard back to San Francisco." Mike finally turned to look at his partner. "Agreed?"

Steve met his eyes evenly. "Agreed," he confirmed, nodding once.

"Good." Mike glanced at his watch then looked back at the bar. "So where are you staying?"

"What?"

"Well, you aren't carrying a suitcase, so where are you staying?"

"Oh, ah, I haven't got a room yet; I put my bag in a locker at the bus station." He paused expectantly, and Mike eventually turned to look at him. He smiled with as much charm as he could muster at the moment. "I was kind of hoping I could… you know…" He bobbled his eyebrows.

Mike cocked his head. "Sleep in the other bed in my room?"

Steve nodded enthusiastically.

"How do you know my room has two beds?"

"Well, most motels have twin beds. And, well… you are staying in a motel, right?"

Mike stared at him unblinking. "You mean because it's cheaper than a hotel?"

"Well…" Steve's head wobbled back and forth slightly with a shrug.

"I am."

Steve waited while a bemused silence stretched out between them. "So…?" he ventured finally.

With a snort, Mike turned back to his vigil. "It's a good thing I like you," he muttered under his breath.

With a chuckle, Steve leaned back in the seat again, grinning. "Listen, ah, I should go get my bag. I won't be long. Want me to pick you up a coffee on the way back?"

Mike glanced over. "Sure." As the younger man began to get out, he reached over and grabbed his sleeve. Steve stopped and looked back. "Thanks."

Steve smiled, knowing exactly what his partner meant. "You're welcome. I'll be back as soon as I can." He got out of the blue sedan and slammed the door. And he couldn't contain a relieved and happy smile as he strode quickly back up the street.

# # # # #

Even for an early Wednesday evening, the Washington Boulevard area was hopping. It was getting harder and harder to keep track of everybody going in and out of Hiraro's.

They were sitting in the car quietly, the coffees finished long ago. Mike reached across the front seat and opened the glove box. He fished around for a moment then pulled out a small pair of binoculars.

Steve chuckled. "You always carry binoculars in your car?"

Mike threw him a peeved glance as he pulled them wider and brought them to his eyes. "No, smarty, I threw them in before I left."

"Must've been all that Boy Scout training, right?" Steve bit both lips to keep from laughing.

"Yeah… right…" Mike growled, staring at the mass of bodies milling around in front of the bar. "Christ, there's a lot more people here tonight than there was last night."

"Maybe they have a Wednesday night special to attract a bigger crowd. Whatever it is, it's working."

"Yeah…" Mike lowered the binoculars and looked across the front seat. "Do you think you could recognize him?"

Frowning, Steve nodded.

"Okay. So, ah, why don't you take the shift tonight… head in there and have a burger or something and a couple a beers and, ah, have a look around. What do you think?"

With a facial shrug, Steve nodded. "Sure. I am getting kinda hungry. What are you gonna do for dinner?"

"Well," Mike answered slowly, "with you in there I can stand down out here for awhile. I'll go get something and bring it back to the car." He smiled almost self-consciously. "I kinda need to get out and go for a walk anyway… I feel like I'm petrifying sitting here for so long."

Steve chuckled. "I hear ya. Sure, sounds good to me." He opened the door and started to get out, then looked back across the front seat. "You sure you're gonna be okay here all by yourself, Lieutenant?" he asked with feigned solemnity, not quite able to hide the smirk.

"Get outa here," Mike growled, raising his right hand as if to reach across the seat to swat at the younger man. Laughing, Steve took a step back and slammed the door. Mike watched with an affectionate smile as his partner headed down the block, across the street and entered the obviously very popular local bar.

# # # # #

It was well past 10 when the passenger side door opened and Steve climbed wearily into the front seat, leaning back with a groan.

Mike looked over with an amused smile. "Just how many beers did you have?"

Chuckling, Steve shook his head. "I'm not sure. There were a couple of lovely young ladies in there who just kept plying me… I was helpless…" he shrugged.

"Unh-hunh. You did remember you were in there for a purpose, right?"

With a lop-sided grin, Steve turned his head against the seat and nodded. "Unh-hunh. Don't worry, I paid attention to everyone that came in all evening."

"And no Lonsdale?" Mike sounded a little disappointed.

The younger man shook his head almost sadly. "Not even someone who looked even vaguely like him. Sorry…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for, bud-" Mike stopped himself with a laughing snort, raising both hands slightly in mock surrender. "Sorry, a promise is a promise."

"Yes, it is," Steve intoned with a smile. He took a deep sobering breath. "Listen, ah, you said it, right? We've got time. Maybe we'll be luckier tomorrow night."

Mike stared at him, appreciating the confidence. Then he turned the key and started the engine. "You're right. Let's call it a day. Besides, you need to see our, ah, our accommodations for the night."

They were both still chuckling when the blue sedan pulled away from the curb.


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you okay?"

Startled, Mike's head came up, frowning. A piece of toast halfway to his mouth, Steve was staring at him with a furrowed brow.

They were sitting in the small coffee shop attached to the motel. The older man had been unusually quiet all morning.

Steve had slept more soundly than he had anticipated when he'd first stepped into the one-cut-above-a-fleabag motel room where Mike had been staying. "Well, isn't this lovely," he'd remarked dryly as he preceded his partner into the small wood-paneled room with twin beds, both of them made. Mike's suitcase was sitting on the desk; a couple of shirts, both of them short-sleeved and more colourful than what he normally wore, and an extra pair of what looked like blue jeans were hanging on the small rack near the bathroom door.

"Don't complain," Mike had growled as he closed the door, turned the lock then tossed the key on the small table next to the far bed before he sat on it and started to remove his shoes. "It's close, it's cheap, it's clean and you're not paying for it… Anything else you want to say?"

"Who, me?" Steve chuckled as he dropped his bag on the first bed and unzipped it. "Not a thing, Lieutenant… mum's the word." He looked up at the questionable artwork over both beds and frowned, pursing his lips.

Mike, who was unbuttoning his shirt, followed the stare and smiled.

"What do you think that's supposed to be?" Steve asked slowly, indicating the painting above his bed with his chin. "A… fish…?"

Mike chuckled. "I've been trying to figure it out too… I thought it was a dog…"

The younger man laughed as he pulled his pajama bottoms out of his bag. Mike had already gotten up, taken his own pajamas out of his suitcase and disappeared into the bathroom. They went to bed without another word.

The sun was streaming through the thin curtains when Steve finally woke. He stretched as he sat up, only slightly surprised to see his partner fully dressed and sitting at the small desk on the far side of the room, papers laid out before him. Steve glanced at the other bed; it was made. Smiling to himself, he threw the sheet off and stood, picking up his flight bag to take fresh clothes out.

Mike glanced over his shoulder. "Good morning," he said almost perfunctorily.

"Good morning." Steve pulled a t-shirt over his head as he approached the desk. The papers were identical to the ones in the file he'd received from Renneker, with one exception. Reaching out, he picked up the almost square piece of white cardboard. "Jerry didn't have a copy of the fingerprint card."

Mike looked up and smiled. "It's, ah, it's not a copy."

Steve frowned. "What?"

Mike turned slightly in the chair and cleared his throat. "I said it's not a copy. It's the original."

Steve cocked his head and his eyes narrowed. "How the hell did you…?"

Mike's smile turned enigmatic. "You oughta know by now I have friends in, ah, in high places… as they say. I, ah, I borrowed it."

"You borrowed it," the younger man echoed softly, nodding knowingly. He put the card back on the desk. "Say, ah, you know a good place to get breakfast around here?" he asked with a smile as he crossed to the bathroom.

"Just so happens I do," Mike answered over his shoulder as the bathroom door closed.

And now they were sitting in the motel's diner. The coffee was good, the eggs cooked to perfection and the toast crisp and warm. Mike hadn't touched a thing.

Shaking his head slightly, as if bringing himself back to the present, the older man half-smiled self-consciously. "Sorry… I was miles away…"

Steve smiled softly. "Yeah, I could tell…" He dropped the piece of toast on his plate and sat back slightly. He studied the other man, still not quite used to seeing his now somewhat hirsute partner wearing a floral short-sleeved shirt, jeans and sneakers. The Giants baseball cap was sitting on the bench seat beside him. "What are you thinking?"

Mike sat back with an almost melancholic sigh. He looked at the younger man evenly for a couple of beats before asking, "So how much did Jerry actually tell you?"

Steve shrugged. "Well, he told me about you and Gus and him and his partner being the first ones on the scene, about how disturbing it was…"

Mike snorted mirthlessly and looked down. "Disturbing… yeah…" He reached out and pushed the untouched plate away, then leaned forward, his forearms on the table and his hands clasped. He looked down. "I'd seen dead bodies before, of course… Hell, during the war, I was responsible for a few of them… but this was…" He took a deep breath. "This was different…"

He swallowed heavily, and it was obvious he was reliving those moments in his mind's eye. Steve waited.

"Helen and I were trying to have a child at the time and, ah… well, we weren't having any luck…" He glanced up at his young companion and smiled slightly with a soft snort before looking back down. He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly through his partially open lips. "And, ah, and there she was… Brigitte Larson… this beautiful young girl – just a kid, really… I think it shook Jerry up just as much as me. In fact, I know it did."

He raised his head again and met Steve's eyes. "That was the moment I knew I had to make it to Homicide, and that I would do everything in my power to get there." An ironic smile crossed his lips. "It took me awhile, I had to pay my dues just like everybody else… but I finally did it…"

Steve smiled warmly, nodding. Then he shrugged slightly. "So, ah, so why didn't you ever mention this case to me? I mean, you know, you had the file and everything…"

Mike chuckled softly, leaning back and shaking his head. "To be perfectly honest, I forgot about it." He snorted almost in embarrassment. "These past few years… you know, after Helen got sick… and then I had Jeannie to look after… and then you came into my life…" He shrugged and smiled softly. "It's, ah, it's been kinda busy, you know…"

With a gentle chuckle, Steve nodded. "Yeah, I know… for me too."

Mike smiled and nodded. "To be perfectly honest, Jerry's call caught me completely by surprise. But everything came back really fast… and I knew I had to move just as fast to get down here, to see if he was right, to see if we could finally put Lonsdale away and get some justice for Brigitte Larson and her parents. To close the book, so to speak."

He snorted in embarrassment and looked down. "I, ah… I didn't deliberately take off without talking to you first or leaving you a note… I honest to god didn't have time. I even called into the office the next morning from the road – I'd left home around 4 and I was halfway down here before I called in and told Art to let everyone know I was taking the next two weeks off." He smiled knowingly. "I knew it would only be a matter of time till you tracked me down."

Steve smiled and shook his head. "I, ah, I wasn't sure how you were going to react when I got into the car last night. I was just hoping you weren't going to tear my head off." He cringed playfully.

Chuckling, Mike smiled softly. "I wouldn't do that. As a matter of fact, I was sort of counting on you to show up." A twinkle appeared in his eyes. "It's really boring sitting in that car alone most of the day…"

Laughing, Steve sat back, shaking his head. "Speaking of which, what time do you want to start again today?"

Still smiling, Mike exhaled loudly. "Well, I've been getting there around two, two-thirty. Make sure I get a good parking spot, you know…"

"What have you been doing to kill time before then?"

Mike smiled and looked down. "I've, ah, I've been walking on the beach. You know about the beaches here, right?"

Steve grinned. "You mean Muscle Beach?"

The older man nodded.

"I've heard of it, never been there."

"Well, let me tell you, Smiley, you take a walk down there and you'll be hitting the gym when you get back home, believe me." Mike laughed. "You game?"

Chuckling, Steve nodded. "You bet. But, ah, I really don't think you should be going anywhere on an empty stomach, do you?" He gestured towards the forgotten breakfast plate.

Confused, Mike looked down at the table then snorted softly. "Oh, ah, yeah, you're right…" He started to pull the plate closer.

"Wait, wait," Steve said quickly, looking up at the counter and trying to catch the waitress's eye. "That's cold by now, I'll have her heat it up and bring you a fresh cup of coffee."

Mike leaned back slightly, with an appreciative smile.

Steve, who was watching the waitress approach their table, glanced at the older man and froze slightly. "What?"

Mike grinned and shook his head. "Nothing."

As Steve talked to the waitress, Mike continued to stare as his young friend with an almost contented smile.

# # # # #

There wasn't a cloud in the sky as they walked through the sand along the narrow strip between the water and the permanent workout installations. Already a few tourists, and even some of the locals, were milling about, taking pictures of the small coterie of bodybuilders who were putting the gym equipment to work.

Steve grinned and shook his head, clocking a particularly muscle-bound blond doing pull-ups at an astonishing rate. "Dear god," he sputtered, stopping to watch, raising his dark glasses to get a better look. He glanced at his partner, who had stopped as well. "That was always my least favorite mandatory requirement. How many could you do?"

"Me?" Mike laughed, his hands in his pockets. He started to walk again. "Seven. That's all I had to do and that's all I ever did."

Chuckling, dropping his sunglasses back into place, Steve followed. "Me too. I don't think I can do that anymore. You?"

Mike snorted, glancing over his shoulder. "I haven't been able to do a pull-up in years… and thank god I don't have to."

Steve watched as his partner strolled ahead of him across the firm, wet sand and chuckled as he jogged a bit to catch up. "I've been meaning to ask." He exaggeratedly looked his partner up and down. "I had no idea you even owned an Hawaiian shirt and I would've bet everyone in the department you didn't own a pair of blue jeans. So… what gives?"

Chuckling, his eyes hidden behind his own dark glasses, Mike looked down at the sand and smiled but didn't alter his stride. "I bought the shirts when I got down here so I would… fit in…" He paused for effect. "But, smart guy, the blue jeans are mine. Jeannie bought them for me a couple of years ago… This is the first time I've worn them."

"Ah ha, I see… That makes a lot of sense…"

Mike glanced at him and, even behind the sunglasses, Steve could see the frown.

"What makes a lot of sense?"

"Those jeans, they fit you too well… I knew you didn't buy them for yourself…" he chuckled, clearing his throat and taking the lead in their walk down the beach.

Growling good-naturedly under his breath, Mike watched the younger man with a fond smile, then lengthened his stride to fall into step beside him.

# # # # #

Mike pulled the heavy blue wood-and-glass door open and stepped into Hiraro's for the first time. The establishment was just as hip on the inside as it was on the outside but had still managed to keep a neighbourhood pub feel. There was a long wooden bar along one wall with mirrors and glass shelves of liquor bottles lining the wall behind it. The rest of the place was filled with round tables of various sizes. There was one television set high on a shelf in the far corner; it was off.

His eyes scanned the room, taking it all in and quickly deciding where he wanted to sit so he could unobtrusively keep an eye on the front door while he whiled away the next few hours, he hoped.

The bartender, a handsome tall dark-haired guy who looked like he spent his off-hours at Muscle Beach, looked up from wiping a towel over the bar and smiled. "Hi, welcome to Hiraro's," he said congenially.

Nodding and smiling, Mike gestured vaguely around the room and shrugged.

"Anywhere you'd like," the bartender laughed. "What can I get you?"

With another nod, Mike headed towards a table against the far wall about halfway down the room. "Anything you got on tap."

"Sounds good. Gonna eat?"

"Sure am," Mike grinned amiably as he pulled the far chair out.

"Great. I'll get Becky to get you a menu."

"No rush," Mike chuckled as he took his baseball cap off, dropped it on the table and started to sit. He saw a beautiful young blond woman come out from what he assumed was the kitchen and start towards him with a large menu and a smile.

"Jeez, Danny," he heard the bartender exclaim happily, "where you been, man? Haven't seen you in days!"

Laughter filled the bar as the newcomer parked himself on a stool at the bar. "I had to go up north for a couple of days, see my folks. God, it's quiet in here tonight, what's going on?"

The bartender laughed. "We had ladies night last night… packed the place. It was a zoo."

Mike glanced up from the menu in his hand just as the newcomer looked over his shoulder at the almost empty bar and froze.

He was staring into the grey eyes of Jeffrey Lonsdale.


	8. Chapter 8

Recovering rapidly, Mike managed a quick smile and nod at Lonsdale, who returned the salutation congenially, before dropping his eyes back to the menu in his hand. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears and feel his heart thudding against his ribs. His mouth went dry. He fumbled in his shirt pocket for his reading glasses and put them on.

"Here you go," he heard the bartender announce and glanced up again to see a tall glass of Guinness being set on the bar in front of Lonsdale, who had turned back.

Becky, the waitress, was suddenly at Mike's elbow and she deposited a frosty glass of a pale beer on the coaster she'd tossed on the table. "Pabst," she said with a smile. "Nice and cold."

Not trusting his voice for the moment, Mike nodded his thanks, still trying to get the sudden rush of adrenaline under control.

She glanced at the menu. "Ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?"

"Ah," he said tentatively, quietly clearing his throat, "I need a little more time, thanks."

Her grin was broad and instantaneous. "Not a problem. Take all the time you need. I'll be just over there." She pointed at the end of the bar near the door to the kitchen.

As she started to turn away, he stopped her. "Ah, anything you'd recommend?" He took the opportunity to glance past her towards the bar again. Lonsdale was leaning forward and looking down, reading a newspaper that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, his Guinness near his right hand.

Becky smiled again. "Sure, everything!" she giggled and he couldn't help joining in the laughter. She took a step closer to the table and pointed at the menu. "Seriously, though, we are known for our burgers. We do seven different kinds, as you can see, and they are all great." She looked at Mike and frowned slightly. "But you look like a steak man to me. Am I right?"

He smiled at her charmingly and nodded once, almost gravely. "You are."

"Well then," she said, the twinkle in her eye getting brighter, "I would definitely recommend our Porterhouse T-Bone, a baked potato with bacon bits and chives, and a side of string beans and broccoli in a delicious garlic sauce. How does that sound?"

Grinning, Mike nodded. "You read my mind," he chuckled as he took his glasses off and put them back in his pocket.

She chuckled. "I'm glad." She took the menu from his hand and, with a wink, turned and headed back towards the bar.

Mike took the chance to glance in Lonsdale's direction again; he hadn't moved, still poring over the paper. It was obvious he was a regular, and that was a very good thing. Relaxing slightly, Mike leaned back. His heart was still pounding but now with the excitement of the game. He had spotted his prey; now he had to figure out how to bag him.

# # # # #

The bar started to fill up quickly and it became harder and harder for Mike to keep tabs on Lonsdale, but the middle-aged fugitive didn't move from his spot at the bar, except for a couple of quick trips to the men's room. The San Francisco detective had even managed to relax enough to enjoy his meal. The t-bone was just as good as Becky had promised and he had savoured every bite.

Finished, he laid the knife and fork on the empty plate and pushed it away. With a small smile, he wondered what Steve had managed to do for dinner. It had taken all his self-control not to excuse himself, before the porterhouse had been delivered, and step out of the bar, ostensibly for a cigarette but actually to sprint down the street to tell his partner the news. But common sense had prevailed and he had managed to remain in his seat.

Another waitress spotted his empty plate and cruised by his table, avoiding the ever expanding mob, to pick it up. Nodding at his almost empty glass, she asked if he wanted another. Realizing he could do no more this evening, and that he had accomplished what he had set out to do, Mike genially declined, asking for the bill.

As he left the now crowded pub, after making sure Becky had picked up his cash and generous tip, he took one last look at the bar; Lonsdale was still there, talking to a couple on his left. He looked very at home. With a satisfied nod to himself, Mike held the door open for a group of young, tanned surfers and beach bunnies to enter before he stepped out into the relative quiet of the bustling street.

Trying to look nonchalant, he stuck his baseball cap on his head, stuffed his hands into his pockets and began to saunter across the street and up the block towards the blue sedan, whistling softly to himself.

Steve saw him coming. Sitting behind the wheel, he sat up a little straighter and smiled when he saw his partner almost casually strolling towards him, looking every inch the relaxed and laidback vacationer he was trying to project. Mike made enigmatic eye contact as he circled around the front of the car to the passenger side and slipped quickly onto the front seat. They looked at each other for a beat before the older man said quietly, "He's in there."

Steve grinned, pounding the steering wheel with his right fist. "Yes! I thought that might be him. I saw someone that looked an awful lot like him go in about, what? An hour and a half ago?"

Mike was nodding, trying to suppress his own broad smile. "Yeah. He seems to be a regular. Which is really good for us," he added, eyes wide, feeling the adrenaline beginning to course through his veins again.

Steve was staring at him with a warm and happy smile. "So Jerry was right…"

"Yeah," Mike agreed softly, leaning back on the seat, his relieved smile lingering. "Yeah, he certainly was…" He exhaled loudly. "I almost didn't believe it when I saw him… I looked right into his eyes and I knew, Steve… I knew it was him…"

A comfortable silence stretched out between them for a few long beats, then Steve ventured quietly, "Well, I guess we have some thinking to do tonight, hunh? Plan our strategy?"

Mike turned his head slowly. "Yeah, we sure do."

Steve cocked his head. "But there's something I gotta do first," he said as he turned the key and started the engine.

Mike frowned as he watched his partner put the car into reverse and turn to look out the rear window. "What's that?"

As he shifted into drive and started to pull away from the curb, Steve glanced across the front seat. "I have to give Jerry a call. I promised I'd call him… when I found you," he smiled guiltily, "and to let him know if he was right about Lonsdale."

Mike snorted dryly. "When you found me, hunh?" He shook his head, chuckling. "Listen, ah… I'd like to be the one to call him, okay? Tell him about Lonsdale? Is that okay?"

Turning a corner, Steve nodded, smiling to himself. "Of course it's okay. You got his number?"

"Yeah, I got his number." Mike turned to the younger man quickly. "Say, did you get yourself any dinner?"

Steve shook his head. "No, I wasn't hungry. Figured I'd pick something up later."

"Then let's not go back to the motel right away. Let's stop somewhere so you can eat and I can call Jerry. How does that sound? And, ah, and your dinner's on me tonight."

The younger man's head snapped in his partner's direction, the eyebrows raised. "On you?" He looked back at the road, grinning.

"Yes, smarty, you heard me right. It's on me. I'm feeling magnanimous tonight… so take advantage of it, 'cause it won't last," Mike chuckled.

Laughing, Steve shook his head. "Ah, yeah, sure, dinner on you… works for me."

Mike pointed through the windshield. "Just… shut up and drive… and look for someplace you'd like to eat… but don't get carried away, okay?"

"No, sir," the younger man laughed, his eyes starting to scan both sides of the street.

# # # # #

Mike dropped into the opposite chair as the waitress arrived with the large plate and set it in front of the younger man. He scanned the colourful plate loaded with two hard-shell tacos, a generous dollop of refried beans and a small salad. Two small bowls with guacamole and salsa were already waiting on the table, along with a small wicker basket filled with tortilla chips.

She looked at Mike expectantly. "Ah, no, thank you," he demurred with a smile, patting his stomach, "I already ate. But could I get a coffee, please?"

"Of course," she said pleasantly and disappeared.

Steve took a sip of his Corona and put the bottle back on the table. "Was he relieved?"

Mike chuckled. "Relieved? He was over the moon. He wants me to keep him up to date and I told him I would. He also asked what we're gonna do next?" He raised his eyebrows in a facial shrug.

Reaching for one of the tacos, the younger man snorted dryly. "What did you tell him?"

"Well, I told him we hadn't talked about it yet but we'd figure it out tonight."

"That's optimistic of you," Steve grinned as he took a bite, trying to hold the quickly crumbing shell together.

With a smirk, Mike pushed the stack of napkins closer. "What else have we got to do the rest of tonight… and all day tomorrow. Lonsdale seems like a dinnertime regular so I don't expect him to be there much before 5. And we can't be seen lurking around the place all day… that would be more than a little suspicious," he chuckled sarcastically.

Grabbing a handful of napkins, Steve tried to stop the ground beef juice from sliding down his chin. "So what do you want to do?"

Mike took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, I think it's gonna take a little more than just you and me saying it's him for LAPD Homicide to come out here and arrest him for us… Especially since I haven't seen him since '49 and you've never seen him."

Wrestling with the second taco, Steve chuckled and nodded. "So what are you thinking?" he asked around a mouthful.

The waitress appeared and put the cup and saucer on the table in front of Mike, who nodded his thanks. He reached for the milk jug. "Well, I was thinking that maybe we should take a trip downtown tomorrow morning and talk to my contacts at the LAPD, start to bring them into the loop, see what they can do to help. What do you think?"

Steve had paused in his chewing and was staring at his partner with a frown. "You really want their help on this? You don't want us to do it?"

Taking a sip of coffee, Mike shot him a peeved glare over the top of the cup. "Of course I want us to do it," he growled as he put the cup down a little more forcefully than he wanted, making enough noise for heads in the small restaurant to turn in their direction. He glanced around guiltily; Steve hid his smile behind the taco as he took another bite. Mike paused and took an obvious steadying breath, his eyes narrowed. "What I meant was, and not to put too fine a point on it, we have to remember we're strangers in a strange land here, our badges mean nothing. You know that. It's not our ballgame… we're the visiting team, so to speak."

Steve nodded, continuing to chew.

"So I want to know what they want from us in order to get this guy into custody, that's all. I, for one, want to find out what his new name is. I know he's using Danny but that's really not much use to us, is it? We need a last name. I'd love to get an address as well, see what he's driving - Oh, ah, chances are he does have a car, he told the bartender he went 'north' to see his parents. That's really no help – that could mean anywhere from the San Fernando Valley all the way to the Canadian border. But that does means his folks are still alive and still around and I really want to track them down too but that's something we can do later. We just have to make sure when we grab him he has no way of tipping them off."

Steve pushed his now-empty plate away and sat back, wiping his mouth and chin with the last of the clean napkins. "Well, I've got an idea about what we should do tomorrow night," he said with a smile.

Cocking his head, Mike leaned forward, forearms on the table, wrapping both hands around the still warm coffee cup. "You do?"

The younger man nodded.

"Do tell."


	9. Chapter 9

Luck was on their side. They had been sitting in the blue sedan in its usual spot, both pairs of eyes on the bar, since a little after three, much earlier than they had planned.

They had spent the morning at Parker Center talking with two LAPD homicide detectives. Lieutenants Robert Evans and Philip Garabaldi had listened with interest as Mike related the details of the Brigitte Larson murder and the subsequent arrest, then flight, of suspected killer Jeffrey Lonsdale. Then both he and Steve had brought them up to speed on the events of the past several days, beginning with Renneker's late night phone call that had got the ball rolling again.

Both southern California cops had been impressed, by the presentation of the obviously cold case and by the dedication of their upstate counterparts in tracking Lonsdale down after so many years. And they offered what little advice they could.

But there had been a spate of homicides in the LA County area in the past couple of months, and the division was stretched to its limits. Manpower was at a premium, at least at this stage of the investigation, but they assured their colleagues that if Lonsdale's identify could be proven sufficient to stand up in a court of law, they would do everything in their power to assist in his arrest and transfer upstate.

Mike, well aware of how departments occasionally became swamped beyond capacity, told them he appreciated their offer, and asked for a couple of favours. He told them of the fingerprint card he had with him and asked that, should they be able to obtain an item with Lonsdale's prints on it, would they be able to use the forensic facilities and personnel of the LAPD. And he also asked that if they could find out what name Lonsdale was now using, could they use the LAPD's facilities to uncover as much as they could about his new identity.

Evans made a couple of quick phone calls and all was arranged. Then, thanking them profusely and promising to stay in touch, Mike and Steve headed back to Venice, ready to put Steve's plan into action.

It was shortly before 4:30 when they both spotted the man they believed to be Jeffrey Lonsdale come into view and casually enter Hiraro's. They glanced at each other with matching relieved smiles.

"I'll give him a half hour," Steve said softly.

Mike nodded as he slouched, resting the back of his head against the seat, pulling the ball cap low over his eyes and folding his hands across his stomach. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before; he couldn't get his thoughts to stop churning. "Wake me when you leave, okay?"

With a chuckle, working his way through a bag of sunflower seeds, the shells on a napkin spread out on the seat beside him, Steve smiled behind the dark glasses. "You got it." He studied his partner for a couple of long beats before turning to look back at the bar. He was happy that he could be there for him, that he could help to bring to a close such a disturbing chapter in his partner's life. He owed Mike so much; if he could help ease a burden even in some small way, it was worth every moment and every inconvenience.

And besides, he thought with a smile as he popped another sunflower seed into his mouth, this could actually turn out to be a very soul-satisfying endeavour. They just needed some good luck… or good karma, as everyone down here would say, he thought with a soft chuckle.

# # # # #

Mike felt a touch on his left forearm and woke with a start, pushing the brim of his baseball cap up. He looked briefly disoriented.

"Sorry," Steve chuckled as he carefully picked up the napkin filled with sunflower seed shells. "It's time for me to go."

After a brief, almost confused pause, Mike sat up straighter, stretching his shoulders and rotating his head back and forth. "Right… sorry… I guess I fell asleep."

Steve opened the door. "You sure did." He began to get out.

"Hey," Mike stopped him. "You remember what you need to do, right?"

Steve turned back, raising his eyebrows behind the sunglasses with a sardonic grin. "I was the one that came up with this little idea, remember?"

"I remember," Mike growled good-naturedly, "I just want you to remember what you told me."

"Don't worry, I remember." Holding the napkin carefully in one hand, he got out of the car and slammed the door. He started down the street casually, well aware of the blue eyes that were following his every move.

Mike slid behind the wheel to get a better look at the bar. He watched as his partner suddenly stopped and, looking briefly over his shoulder back towards the car with a very obvious grin, crossed the sidewalk to a small aluminum garbage can against the stucco wall of store and dropped the napkin into it.

Mike chuckled and shook his head then, the smile lingering, followed the young man with the wavy brown hair and heart-stopping grin as he continued down the street and disappeared through Hiraro's front door.

# # # # #

Steve spotted Lonsdale the second he stepped into the small pub; he was at the far end of the bar, reading a newspaper, a half-empty glass of Guinness near his elbow. He felt his heart trip-hammer in his chest.

He glanced around; there were about a dozen patrons sitting at various tables. He knew it was the calm before the storm, so to speak, and that was why he chose this time.

The bartender, who was at the far end, looked Steve's way and grinned. "Hey, I remember you!" he chuckled as he moved closer. "You were in here on Ladies' Night Wednesday… You were the guy those two blondes couldn't get enough of, weren't ya?"

Steve had started to grin and nod. "Hey, hey, hey," he laughed, hands out as if presenting himself. "What can I say? It was a great night…"

"I bet it was," the bartender laughed appreciably. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have a Guinness," he said, pointing at the one near Lonsdale, who had glanced up when the banter started. They made brief eye contact.

"You got it," the bartender said, turning away.

Steve slid onto the nearest stool, at the other end of the bar from the reason he was there. He pulled an ashtray closer then took a pack of Marlboros and a book of matches out of his back pocket and set them on the bar. He smiled to himself in anticipation of the reaction he knew he would get from his partner when he crawled back into the car later, smelling of stale cigarette smoke. He hoped he could blame it on the bar, but he knew he wouldn't be able to fool the older man. But, to be perfectly honest, though he never smoked around Mike, it was a habit he just couldn't quit.

He had just lit his first when the bartender approached and put the tall glass of ale with the perfectly poured head on the coaster in front of him. "There you go."

Steve nodded. "Thanks," he mouthed around the cigarette. He inhaled deeply and held the smoke for a couple of seconds before releasing it through his nose. He tapped the tiny ash into the glass ashtray, staring at it, knowing this was exactly the time to make his move.

"Listen, ah," he said to the bartender who had turned away and was resetting a few bottles on the shelves; he turned, eyebrows raised. "Listen," Steve continued, "a while back I met this guy up north where I live…" He gestured feebly towards what he hoped was north, with a self-deprecating chuckle.

The bartender smiled and took a step closer. "Oh, yeah, where's that?"

Feigning embarrassment, Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you've never heard of it… Modesto?" On the bartenders blank stare, he continued, "The home of Ernest and Julio Gallo…?"

"The wine guys?"

"The same," Steve chuckled with a nod. "Anyway, I happened to mention I was coming down this way, you know, to check out the, ah… the beach… and the women…" He cleared his throat. "So, ah, this guy, he told me about this amazing Filipino restaurant he said was down near the beach around here. And I was out walking around all afternoon and I can't find it. Have you heard of it? I think it's called My Anda or something like that…?"

The bartender shook his head, frowning. "No… no, I haven't heard of it but I, ah, I don't eat at that kinda place. I'm more a meat and potatoes guy. But hang on a second, I know someone that might be able to help you." He turned towards the end of the bar. "Hey, Danny!"

Lonsdale's head came up.

The bartender moved halfway down the bar. "This guy here's looking for a Filipino restaurant near here. You know of one?" The bartender looked back at Steve, a grin spitting his face. "Danny here used to live in the Philippines."

The blood suddenly rushed to Steve's head and he could barely hear what the bartender was saying. Trying not to tip his hand, he swiveled on the stool to face the far end of the bar. "No shit?"

Lonsdale smiled amiably and nodded. "Not for long, just a couple a years."

"Oh man, I've always wanted to go. I hear it's beautiful there."

"It is."

Taking a chance, Steve put the cigarette in his mouth, picked up the ashtray and his beer and slid off the stool. He approached Lonsdale with raised eyebrows and nodded at a stool two away. "Do you mind?" he asked around the cigarette.

"Not at all," Lonsdale gestured at the stool.

With a grin and an appreciative nod, Steve set the ashtray and glass down then sat. He took the cigarette out of his mouth. "So, ah, you know of this Filipino restaurant around here?"

"Well, there's a couple. One of them is pretty good but the other one is great. But you have the name wrong. It's Meryenda. It's a bastardization of the Tagalog word for snacks."

"Meryenda," Steve said slowly a couple of times, rolling the name over and over on his tongue. "I gotta remember that, thanks. I'll have dinner there tomorrow night." He nodded to himself, repeating the name as if trying to commit it to memory. "Ah, anything you'd recommend?"

"Well, their adobo is great, and so is their kaldereta."

Steve let his eyes glaze over slightly and he shook his head with a chuckle, as if overwhelmed. "I, ah, I gotta write this down." He patted his pockets as if looking for a pen and paper and, finding nothing, looked up at the bartender. "Hey, ah …" He looked at Lonsdale with a shrug. "I don't know his name," he said under his breath and Lonsdale smiled.

"It's Doug."

"Thanks. Doug!"

The bartender looked up.

"Sorry, ah, do you have a piece of paper and a pen I could borrow. I want to write down the address of this restaurant." He shrugged helplessly.

"Sure," Doug grinned, looking under the counter then coming towards them to slap a small pad and a golf pencil on the bar. "Will that do?"

Steve looked up and grinned. "Perfect. Thanks." He picked up the pencil and brought the pad closer. "Now what was it you said…?" he began slowly, as he wrote 'Filipino restaurant' at the top of the page. Then, with a casualness he really didn't feel, he looked up and smiled. "My name's Steve Keller," he said, holding out his right hand.

Lonsdale grinned. "Danny… Danny Harrison," he responded with a nod, taking Steve's hand and squeezing.


	10. Chapter 10

Mike was slouched behind the wheel, his eyes glued to Hiraro's; he hadn't moved since the heavy front door had closed behind his partner over 45 minutes before. At this point, he wasn't even sure if he had blinked in all that time, his focus had been so intense.

He jumped, twisting in the seat and scowling in anger at the sudden sharp rap against the closed rear window behind him. And he found himself staring into the intense brown eyes and unsmiling face of a large, black uniformed officer, a nightstick in his hand, leaning almost into the open driver's window.

Mike swallowed heavily, his frown turning quickly into an almost embarrassed smile. He knew immediately what this was all about and he started to reach for the door handle as the cop asked politely, taking a step back, "Sir, could you get out of the car, please?"

Complying quickly, Mike did as he was told, clocking the second officer standing behind his car, watching him closely. The first cop cleared his throat, studying Mike carefully, before stating, "Sir, we've noticed you've been sitting in your car here for quite a while today, and you were here yesterday and the day before as well. Do you mind telling us why?" He sounded polite but Mike knew only too well the command behind the request.

He smiled disarmingly and snorted softly. "Officer…" he looked at the small nameplate on the cop's uniform, "Beltran, uh, is there somewhere more private we could talk?" He had reached into his jeans pocket and slipped his badge out, keeping it low and hidden as he flipped it open and glanced down.

Beltran followed the look, his eyes widening when he spotted the gold star, and his head came back up quickly. He studied the older man's face for a beat, glanced at his partner, then nodded. "Let's go in there," he said quietly, nodding over his right shoulder.

Mike looked past the cop and suppressed a chuckle. "Works for me," he smiled as he followed Beltran into the small donut shop, the second confused LAPD officer bringing up the rear.

As Beltran held the door open, he looked back. "Don't knock it, they make the best dunkers in town," he grinned, "not to mention the best coffee."

# # # # #

The sun was going down over the ocean when Steve finally emerged from Hiraro's and started down the street. He was almost bouncing out of his skin and it took all his professional self-control not to sprint up the street to the car. Halfway up the block he slowed, frowning. The blue sedan wasn't there.

He kept walking, his eyes snapping back and forth across the street, trying to locate Mike's car. His heart started to pound.

He was passing the spot where the Ford should have been parked when he heard a familiar whistle, softer than usual, and spun towards the sound. His partner, grinning softly, was standing in the recessed doorway of a small Korean restaurant.

Mike crossed slowly towards him, his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual but Steve could tell his was almost vibrating with curiosity. Throwing his arms wide and frowning, Steve glanced over his shoulder to where the car should have been. "What's going on?" he asked, shrugging.

"I'll tell you later," Mike answered smoothly, turning and starting up the street, hands still in his pockets in an attempt to maintain his apparent nonchalance. After a brief confused second, Steve fell into step beside him. A couple of beats later, Mike looked at him obliquely and prompted quietly, "Well…?"

Steve swallowed, trying to match the subdued energy, and smiled slightly. "Danny Harrison…" He saw the hitch in Mike's step and the fists clench in the pockets. He could hear Mike's relieved exhale and his smile got a little wider.

They had reached the corner and Mike turned to his left. Steve followed, looking up the street and spotting the blue sedan parked halfway down the block on the far side. They walked the rest of the way in silence. Mike got behind the wheel and, when both doors were closed, turned to the younger man and grinned. "Danny Harrison?"

Steve smiled and nodded. "Yeah. I introduced myself and he did the same right back, no hesitation."

Mike was tugging at his lower lip, thinking. His eyes narrowed. "You believe him?"

The younger man shrugged slightly. "I don't think he was onto me, and I don't think he was making it up on the spot. The bartender was well within earshot. If Lonsdale was lying, I think he would've reacted."

"Good, good. You used the Filipino restaurant ruse?"

Nodding enthusiastically, Steve chuckled. "Yeah. He went right for it. It sounds like a great place actually, maybe we should try it out if we get the chance," he continued with a laugh, taking a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and holding it up. Mike shot him an amused scowl.

"What else did you get?"

"Well, I didn't want to seem too pushy so I asked him some generic questions about the Philippines and he was quite open about it, which surprised the hell out of me to be honest. It's like he's got nothing to hide, Mike," he said with a confused frown, stuffing the paper back in his pocket. "It felt to me like he's been back in the country a long time, and that he's been living in this area for quite awhile."

"Then this Danny Harrison will have a paper trail. You know what that means, right?" Mike asked rhetorically. "That means we're going back downtown tomorrow, we have work to do." He put the key in the ignition and started the engine. "You ate already, I take it?" he asked as he started to maneuver the car away from the curb.

"Yeah. You?"

"Ah," Mike began tentatively as the sedan started down the street, "well, not really… I had a couple of donuts and a coffee a couple of hours ago."

Steve frowned. "A couple of donuts?"

Chuckling, Mike snapped the turn signal on and made a right turn. "I'll tell you while I eat. There's that Chinese place near the motel I want to try." He glanced across the front seat and smiled enigmatically. "Were, ah… were there a lot of heavy smokers in the bar tonight?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

Startled, Steve's eyebrows shot up and he swallowed involuntarily. "What?"

"Do me a favour and open your window, will ya? You smell like an ashtray." His smile got a little wider as he rolled his own window down and the cool night air filled the car.

# # # # #

"So they made you move the car?" Steve was pouring himself another small cup of green tea, trying not to laugh.

His chopsticks halfway to his mouth, Mike raised his eyebrows. "Well, they didn't come right out and say it but I got the gist. The donut store owner had complained that I was taking up a very important parking space." They both smiled. "Anyway, they were polite about it, I'll give them that." He popped a dumpling into his mouth.

"And they believed you?" Steve looked down at the table, trying to hide a smirk.

Chewing, Mike glared at him through narrowed eyes under a lowered brow. Swallowing, he chuckled as he reached out to spear a potsticker, "Well, they believed me after they called Lieutenant Evans," he chuckled, and the younger man joined in. He bobbed his eyebrows as he bit the end off the potsticker and started to chew.

Laughing, Steve leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. "I'll give Evans a call first thing in the morning and tell him we're coming in."

Mike nodded. "Good idea. You know what we have to do next, right?" He picked up the bowl of rice.

"Yeah," Steve sighed, "we gotta get his fingerprints. One of those Guinness glasses would be great, wouldn't it? But I think Doug the bartender would kinda get suspicious if we just picked it up and walked out with it, don't you?" His chuckle was mirthless.

Mike gestured briefly in his direction with the chopsticks. "I've got an idea about that, don't you worry," he said enigmatically and Steve sat back slowly, smiling with a slight frown.

# # # # #

"Jeez, and I thought our traffic was bad," Mike groused as the blue sedan crawled along the Santa Monica Freeway towards the downtown core. He glanced across the front seat; Steve was stretched out as far as he could manage, his eyes closed behind the dark glasses and his fingers laced across his stomach. "Well, I'm glad one of us is comfortable..."

"I did volunteer to drive and you did turn me down," came the quiet voice from the passenger seat.

"Well, we got here a lot faster yesterday... There must be an accident or something." He sighed in frustration. "What time did you tell him we'd be there?"

"Eight."

Mike glanced at his watch and snorted. "Well, we blew that one. At this rate we might not get there till nine."

At 8:45, the blue sedan turned into the Parker Center parking lot, its occupants getting out and almost jogging towards the tall, iconic white building. Both were slightly out of breath by the time they strode into the cavernous homicide bureau, scanning the busy room for Evans and Garabaldi.

"Sorry, sorry," Mike apologized as they approached, hands up, shaking his head in obvious frustration.

Both LAPD lieutenants smiled. "Don't worry about it, Mike, we've been dealing with LA traffic our entire lives," Garabaldi chuckled.

"And it's getting worse," Evans added with a shrug then he smiled. "But you guys being late let us get a jump start on what you need." He looked at Steve. "I've already sent the name Daniel Harrison to the DMV and up to Sacramento to see if a Daniel Harrison has been paying his taxes and for how long."

"And our Records Division is doing a search on that name as we speak," Garabaldi continued. "We should get those results soon; most of those records are in the computers now."

Mike looked at his partner and grimaced with an almost sad smile. "We're not as, ah... progressive yet, but we're getting there slowly." The younger man nodded in agreement with a slight shrug.

"Well, there are still some... hitches, I guess you could call them," Garabaldi chuckled, "but when it works like it should, it saves a lot of time and gruntwork, let me tell you. And with our caseload lately..." He finished with a heavy, knowing sigh.

Mike smiled self-consciously. "I'm really sorry we're adding to your workload -"

"Don't be crazy," Evans interrupted quickly, "we're glad you did." He glanced at his partner and Garabaldi nodded in enthusiastic agreement. "If this character really is the guy you think he is, we want to see him in handcuffs too."

With a tight-lipped smile, Mike nodded. "Thanks" he said quietly.

After a couple of silent seconds, Garabaldi softly cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, while we're waiting for those reports to start coming in, why don't you tell us what you guys want to do next?"

Smiling appreciatively, Mike glanced at Steve, who nodded and took a step closer to Evans' desk, sitting on the corner. "Well, we've got an idea we'd like to run past you."


	11. Chapter 11

Their plans for that evening settled, the four homicide officers had just returned from a visit to the cafeteria, all carrying mugs of fresh and remarkably drinkable coffee when the first report appeared on Evans' desk. It was from the DMV.

The LAPD lieutenant picked the fairly thick stack of papers up and settled behind his desk, starting to glance over the covering letter without saying a word. Steve shot a sideways glance at his partner and swallowed a smile. He could tell it was taking all of Mike's self-control not to reach across the desk, rip the report out of Evans' hand and start reading it himself.

Luckily, his Southern California counterpart started to voice what he was learning. "Well, believe it or not, the DMV has six Daniel Harrisons living in Venice and the Venice area, and there are 54 Daniel Harrisons in the LA area alone." He glanced up at Mike and raised his eyebrows. "That means they haven't included the San Fernando Valley or Orange County, for a start. But, luckily, they attached photocopies of their I.D.'s." He detached the six from the Venice area, which were on the top, and handed them to Mike. "Your boy one of them?"

Steve took a step closer as the older man quickly shuffled through the pages. He stopped on the fourth one; both San Francisco detectives nodded as one and Mike snorted in satisfaction. "That's him." He handed the paper back to Evans; Garabaldi had moved to behind the desk and was looking over his partner's shoulder.

Both LAPD lieutenants studied the photo and the address. Garabaldi took the paper from Evans', crossed to his own desk nearby and picked up the phone, glancing at their guests as he dialed. "Great. I'll get them to send us everything they have – what he drives, any tickets –" He stopped with a chuckle when he noticed the wide-eyed stare he was getting from his upstate counterpart. "Oh yeah, right, I don't really need to tell you guys, do I…?" he finished lamely with a soft, embarrassed shrug.

Letting him off the hook, Mike shook his head with a grin and a chuckle.

Laughing, Evans picked up his own phone. "Now that we have an address, I'll give Sacramento another call and let them know. And I'll call Venice and see what they can do for us." He raised his eyebrows and smiled grimly. "Hopefully, by the end of the day, we'll know more about this guy than his mother does."

Mike chuckled grimly. "Yeah, that's something we want to find out too… where his Mom and Dad are…"

# # # # #

Mike was at Evans' desk, Steve at Garabaldi's, going over photocopies of all the information that had been collected during the busy day, while they waited for the LAPD detectives to return from an unexpected meeting with a deputy chief.

Taking off his glasses and tossing them on the desk as he sat back with a sigh, Mike glanced at his watch. "I hope they get back soon… I want to get back to Venice." He looked at his partner and raised his eyebrows. "It's my turn tonight."

"Yes, it is," Steve agreed with a chuckle. "And I'm supposed to be trying out that Filipino restaurant tonight."

Mike laughed. "Maybe they do take-out… you can eat it in the car…"

"Yippee, car food again," the young man cheered mirthlessly. He looked up to spot their counterparts approaching and straightened up, not quite keeping the anticipation out of his expression. From the corner of his eye he saw Mike doing the same.

Evans grinned. "You can relax, both of you. We've got the green light. Whatever you need."

Steve grinned; Mike exhaled loudly. "Thank you." He hung his head for a beat then got to his feet, reaching out to shake both LAPD cops hands. "And you can have your desk back," he chuckled to Evans as he started to move away.

"No no no," Evans said quickly, waving him back down and dropping heavily into the guest chair, "sit back down." Garabaldi did the same to Steve. "So," Evans continued, "I know you guys want to get back down to Venice, and we won't hold you up." He glanced at his partner. "Phil and I have to get home and get changed so we don't look so… cop-ish…" He gestured at Mike. "I see you two've got the look down pat. The beard is filling in nicely…"

Mike stroked his chin, expressionless. "The second we arrest Lonsdale, it's coming off."

Steve snorted, dropping his head, his shoulders shaking.

Garabaldi, his eyebrows raised, looked from one partner to the other and laughed. "You sound like him," he said to Mike, nodding towards Evans.

Mike looked at the LAPD lieutenant and they nodded once at each other in agreement. "There's nothing wrong with being clean shaven," he said definitively for the benefit of the others, and Evans nodded again.

"Well…" Garabaldi continued with a smile in his voice, "now that we've established that…" Steve chuckled. "Shall we go our separate ways and meet up later tonight. We'll, ah, we'll know where you two are going to be," he said with a laugh, "so we'll get down there as soon as we can, but everything is set up."

# # # # #

Steve was behind the wheel, working his way through another bag of sunflower seeds, staring at Hiraro's through his dark glasses. They were parked further up the block this time, well away from the donut shop and the angry owner.

Mike was sitting in the passenger seat, going once more through the papers they had picked up that day. He took off his glasses and put them in his shirt pocket. "I wish there was a car on his house," he said almost wistfully.

"Yeah, I do too," Steve agreed, "but you heard Bob, they can't free anybody up till tomorrow. But at least we have someone in the bar with you tonight. That'll make things easier."

"Easier? It's gonna make our job a piece of cake. I can't believe they have a cop who's a bartender."

"And I can't believe how fast they got in touch with the owner and arranged for Doug the bartender to have a week off." He looked across the seat. "I'm impressed. They're pretty damn efficient."

Mike turned to him sharply. "_We're_ pretty damn efficient too –"

"I didn't mean that!" Steve cut him off, knowing full well how protective his partner was of his city and his police department. "I just meant, they're a lot bigger than we are and they have more manpower to get things done… quickly… That's all…"

Grumbling, Mike looked back down at the papers in his hands. "Well, there's still a lot more we have to find out about this guy… Like when and how he got back into the country and where he's been for the last decade… And I want to hear from the IRS… I want to know how long Daniel Harrison has been paying taxes…" He sighed wearily. "We've got a long way to go, but after we get that glass tonight, and their lab confirms that he is, without a shadow of a doubt, Jeffrey Lonsdale, then we pick him up tomorrow morning as soon as we get a warrant. I want to be heading back home as soon as possible." His voice suddenly sounded far away.

Steve smiled to himself. "So do I, Mike, so do I…"

# # # # #

The older man looked at his watch again. "It's almost six. You sure you haven't seen him?"

Equally frustrated, Steve shook his head.

"Damn it." Mike slumped in the seat, frowning. "I wanted to wrap this up tonight." He sighed heavily.

"What are you both doing here?" came a voice from the sidewalk on their right and both heads spun to see Evans and Garabaldi bending over and looking at them through the passenger window.

"He didn't show," Mike said flatly, trying to keep a lid on his irritation.

Garabaldi straightened up and looked down the block toward Hiraro's.

"Seriously?" Evans sounded as disappointed as Mike looked. "Son of a bitch…"

Garabaldi turned back to the car. "Why don't you guys sit tight and Bob and I'll take a stroll down there and see if he's there or not… maybe he went in another way…?" He shrugged.

Mike bobbled his head. "I don't think there's another way in, but who knows. Sure, go ahead, let us know."

The LAPD detectives started casually down the street, both now in mufti and fitting right in with the throngs of tourists and locals that were crowding the street. It didn't take long for them to reach the bar and disappear inside.

# # # # #

Five minutes later, Garabaldi reappeared and started up the street towards them. He wasn't smiling. As he got close to the blue sedan, he began to shake his head. He stopped beside Mike's open window again. "He's definitely not in there. It's crowded as hell…" He shrugged apologetically. "Hey, it's Friday night… maybe Friday's are not his, ah, cup a tea, if you know what I mean."

Both SF detectives nodded. Mike ran a weary and frustrated hand across the back of his neck. "Yeah, you're probably right. Listen, ah, thanks, Phil, sorry we made you guys come all the way down here tonight for nothing…"

"It's not nothing, Mike," Garabaldi smiled. "Besides, Bob and I are gonna have dinner in there tonight, we managed to snag a free table. Wanna join us?"

"Thanks but, ah, I don't want to tempt fate. Steve'n I'll go somewhere else."

"Okay."

"Listen, ah, tell Bob I'll call you guys tomorrow morning and we'll put our heads together again… how does that sound?"

"Good, good… and, ah, sorry about tonight…" Garabaldi shrugged again.

Mike chuckled. "Don't worry about it… Enjoy your dinner."

With a nod, the LA cop headed back down the street. Mike looked across the front seat. "Listen you, why don't we check out that Filipino restaurant he recommended…" He snorted. "We might be lucky… he might be there tonight…"

Steve chuckled as he turned the key and the engine roared to life. "Wouldn't that be poetic irony…?"

Mike laughed. "I don't know how poetic it would be, but I like the irony…" His smile disappeared. "Your gun in the trunk?"

Steve nodded. "Unh-hunh."

Mike opened the glove box, reaching in to touch the leather of his own holster, reassuring himself that his .38 was there if he needed it. He hoped he didn't need it.

The sedan was heading up Pacific in the heavy traffic. Suddenly Mike sat up straight and pointed to a Mobil gas station on his right. "Pull in there," he barked.

Steve did a double take. "What? Why? We have a full tank."

"Just pull over."

Steve knew that tone; it was the tone he didn't challenge. He put the signal on and turned into the station.

Before the sedan came to full stop, Mike had picked up the papers from the seat beside him and opened the door; he almost sprinted to the small office. About a minute later, he came charging out and back to the car. He was smiling when he closed the door and turned to his partner excitedly. "Dinner can wait for a bit, okay? I want to drive by Lonsdale's house… " He glanced at the office. "I asked the guy in there how to get there and he highlighted a map for me." He snapped on the dome light and showed the map to Steve, pointing. "Here's where we are right now and here's Lonsdale's house…"

Expressionless, Steve took the map and studied it. Mike watched him silently but intently. Eventually the younger man looked up. "Let's do it."


	12. Chapter 12

The sun was dipping towards the ocean, reflecting brightly in the rearview mirror, as Steve turned the blue sedan onto Palms Blvd., slowing slightly to allow Mike to read the numbers stenciled in white on the curb in the fading light.

He pointed vaguely up ahead to the left. "It's just up a bit on your side."

There were cars parked on both sides of the street but they were the only ones driving.

"Slow down a little more but don't come to a complete stop… I don't want people to get suspicious," Mike cautioned quietly as his eyes fell on the house they were seeking. It was a very tiny, well-kept bungalow with a small fenced-in front yard. It was dark. There was no driveway. Lonsdale's car, a forest green '72 Monte Carlo, wasn't visible anywhere on the street nearby.

Steve glanced over as they passed; Mike gave the house as thorough an inspection as he could in the few seconds the blue sedan rolled past.

"Well, he's not there, far as I can tell." He felt his car pick up a little speed and faced forward again. "Hunh," he snorted lightly, "I wonder if he _is_ at that Filipino restaurant?"

Steve flashed a quick smile. "Well, we'll know soon enough. We'll be there in about ten minutes."

Mike nodded. "Well, at least we know where to come when we serve the warrant."

# # # # #

Lonsdale was not at Meryenda. Both of them were relieved and yet disappointed at the same time. It sure would have pushed up their timeline, Mike thought ruefully as they sat at a small table in the almost full _karinderya._ A beautiful young woman approached them with menus and a wide, welcoming smile.

They scoured the menu, using Steve's list to choose the dishes Lonsdale had recommended. While they waited for the food to arrive, their talk turned to what was foremost on both their minds, and they went over the information that had been uncovered that day.

They were still waiting for word from the IRS about Daniel Harrison's tax history, which would tell them how long he had been filing. There had been no record with the LAPD, not even a parking ticket, which pointed to someone who might be deliberately trying to keep a low profile. They had yet to discover how he made his money, or if he even held a job. The house on Palms was a rental.

"Well, I think he's still living off his parents," Mike surmised, leaning back in the cane chair and folding his arms.

Steve cocked his head and nodded. "Yeah, sounds like it, doesn't it? What do you think, he goes 'up north' to visit them every once in a while and gets cash from them…?"

Mike shrugged. "Well, when we finally track down his bank accounts, that'll tell us. But I bet you're right because his parents are going to be just as cautious as he is… they're not going to leave a paper trail. So, yeah, I'm betting cash too…"

"Well, we're gonna have a helluva time trying to track them down. I mean, I'm sure they've changed their names too – and I doubt it's to Harrison. And as you said, that's a hell of a lot of real estate…"

Chuckling, the older man took a sip of water. "Well, we'll have to move our asses to find them after we arrest their son before they somehow find out and go underground. But let's worry about that after we get Lonsdale back to San Francisco, shall we?"

"Sounds good to me," Steve agreed, sitting back as he saw the waitress approach with their dinners. The aromas were mouth-watering.

# # # # #

"Just so you know," Bob Evans said with a smile in his voice that could be heard over the phone, "one of our lab techs is going to join us tonight. When he heard what we needed, he volunteered – on his own time, Mike, believe me – to join us tonight with all the equipment he needs. So if we can get our hands on his beer glass, or something else he touches tonight, Chris can tell us right away if it's Lonsdale or not, then we can go for the warrant."

"That's great, Bob, thank you very much." Mike looked across the small motel room at his partner and smiled, his eyes wide.

"Well, that's not all. Phil was able to have a very rewarding conversation with a judge acquaintance of his, and he's offered to be on call to us till midnight tonight. So if we get confirmation on the fingerprints, we can take everything we have to the judge tonight and he'll sign a warrant for us right away. Then all that's needed is the transfer paperwork and you guys can take him."

"You're kidding…" Steve's head swung sharply in Mike's direction.

"Nope. Things are really falling into place, Mike. All we need now is for Lonsdale to show up tonight."

Sighing loudly, Mike chuckled. "Your lips to God's ears, Bob. Hey, ah, thanks a lot for setting all this up. I really appreciate it." He glanced at Steve. _"We_ really appreciate it. Listen, ah, Steve and I are going to swing by his place again, see if we can spot his car, see if he's still in town. And we'll see you tonight, all right?"

"You got it, Mike."

He put the receiver on the cradle and sat there, staring at the black phone without moving.

Steve looked over from where he was sitting on his bed and frowned. "What?"

Mike shook his head slightly, looked over his shoulder, and smiled. "I'll, ah, I'll tell you at breakfast. It's on me," he announced with a laugh, getting up and crossing to the table between the beds to pick up his watch and wallet.

"On you, you say?" Steve echoed with a grin, scrambling off the bed, stepping into his sneakers and opening the door. "You don't have to ask me twice."

# # # # #

They had spent what they hoped was their last full day in Venice walking on the beach once again, but the luster and curiosity factor were beginning to wane. By 3:30 Steve had swung the sedan to the curb up the block from Hiraro's again and they settled in to begin their patient vigil.

On a hunch, they had tempted fate once more and cruised down Palms Blvd early that morning. This time Mike spotted the Monte Carlo parked on the next block. Satisfied and relieved that Lonsdale was still in town, they had spent the rest of the morning on the beach, grabbed a hot dog and cold drink then headed over to Hiraro's. They did not want to miss Lonsdale today.

"So, ah, you sure you want to drive Lonsdale back to The City? I mean, I could fly and take him with me." Steve was staring at Hiraro's front door.

Mike was slouched in the passenger seat, his ball cap brim pulled down over his eyes. "Yeah, I know, but I gotta drive back anyway, and I'd kind like to spend that time with Lonsdale sitting beside me… I want him to tell me everything by the time we get back… even where his parents are living now."

Steve glanced over and chuckled. "You know, I really believe you can…"

The older man grinned, laughing softly. "So, I'll sit in the back with him, and you can drive. How does that sound?"

"I like the sound of that, yeah." A comfortable silence filled the car. Mike looked like he was sleeping but every sense was on alert.

"Shit!" Steve leaned forward sharply, staring overtop of the steering wheel.

Mike sat up quickly, pushing his cap brim up. "What?"

"He's here. He's early."

Mike glanced at his watch; it was 4:09. "He's never been here this early before… but then again," he chuckled almost to himself, "it's not like we've been following him for months…"

Steve glanced over and laughed. "True."

The older man took a deep breath. "Well, I'll give him a half hour… it's too early for me to go in there." He looked at his partner. "What time did Bob and Phil say they were going to get here?"

"Six."

"I wonder how long he's going to be here…?" Mike mused rhetorically. He could feel the adrenaline starting to build. And he hated waiting.

Steve smiled. "Don't worry. Cathy knows what she's doing, she's not a rookie."

"I know, I know…"

# # # # #

Mike pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped over the threshold. Though it was a Saturday night, Hiraro's was almost empty, but there were a couple of black-clad, pony-tailed and bearded men setting up microphones and a drum kit in the far corner.

Clocking Lonsdale sitting in his usual spot with his usual glass of Guinness at the far end of the bar, he turned his frown of confusion on the middle-aged woman with long, curly red hair drying glasses behind the bar. She, he knew, was Cathy; Steve and he had had the pleasure of meeting her briefly the day before when she reported to Evans and Garabaldi at Parker Center.

"Hi!" she called out in greeting then, following his look of concern towards the commotion in the far corner, laughed. "Don't worry, the band don't start playin' till 8 and the crowd don't start coming in till about 7, or so they tell me. So's if you're just in the mood for a couple of drinks and good meal, you can get outa here long before all the mayhem starts."

Mike, in his persona of older tourist, started to nod vigorously. "Well, that's good," he laughed. "I'm, ah, more of a Glen Miller, Tommy Dorsey kinda guy. This… noise the kids call music nowadays just ain't for me."

"Hey, to each his own, right?" Cathy looked around briefly. "So, ah, you wanna sit at the bar here – and talk to me," she cackled with a wink, "or do you want a quiet meal by yourself."

Dropping onto the nearest stool, Mike laughed warmly. "Well now, I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," she beamed, putting the glass and towel down and tossing a coaster on the bar in front of him. "What can I get you?"

"What do you recommend?"

"I'll surprise you."

Grinning, he watched as she moved to the taps and poured him a pale amber ale with a big head. With a throaty laugh she put it on the coaster in front of him.

As he picked it up to take the first sip, he met her gaze and held it. As his lips touched the glass, his eyes shifted to the end of the bar in Lonsdale's direction, then came back to her face. As he lowered the glass, he nodded. It looked like he was approving of her choice of beer, but she knew what he meant; he had just confirmed the man at the end of the bar was Lonsdale.

She grinned back at him. "That hits the spot, doesn't it?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "It sure does."

Laughing, she went to the end of the bar and picked up a menu. As she started to cross back towards Mike she casually glanced in Lonsdale's direction and stopped. She smiled at him. "Can I get you another Guinness, sir?" she asked pleasantly, and he looked up from the paper he was reading, his eyes snapping from his almost empty glass to her expectant face.

He smiled. "Yes, thank you, that would be great." He picked up the glass and drained the last of the dark ale before handing it to her with a smile.

She walked down to Mike's end of the bar, holding the glass by the bottom. Making brief eye contact with the San Francisco detective, she set it carefully on the counter before reaching over her head for another Guinness glass hanging upside down from the elevated racks of clean glasses of almost every size and description. Then she carefully poured a fresh glass with a perfect head and returned to the end of the bar, setting it on a fresh coaster.

Lonsdale, who had murmured his thanks, picked the new glass up and took a sip before returning to his paper.

Mike looked at Cathy and smiled. She smiled back, carefully picking up the used Guinness glass and putting it in a cupboard under the counter then she picked up the bar rag and went about her business.

He glanced at his watch, wondering how long Lonsdale was going to stay. They couldn't access the glass until he did, in case he noticed what was going on. It was a small place, and they couldn't take that chance.

He took a sip of his beer, wondering if he had the patience to wait Lonsdale out.


	13. Chapter 13

Mike took another sip of his beer as Cathy placed the plate with an Hiraro burger and fries in front of him on the bar. Their eyes met again and her smile got a little wider as she said, "Here you go, sir. Enjoy!" She glanced in Lonsdale's direction as she took a step back to greet an older couple just coming in the door.

As Mike picked up the burger, his eyes slid down the bar. He was getting a little anxious; Lonsdale hadn't even made a trip to the men's room. It was a moot point, he knew. He and Steve had no law enforcement jurisdiction here and he knew he couldn't do anything with the incriminating Guinness glass. It had to remain in Cathy's possession till she could turn it over to Evans and Garabaldi to maintain the chain of custody. So even if they were given a brief window of opportunity should Lonsdale make a trip to the men's room, Mike couldn't take the glass. He didn't have the authority.

They had to wait till Lonsdale left before Cathy could turn the glass over to her colleagues.

# # # # #

Steve jumped slightly when the passenger door opened suddenly and Bob Evans slid into the front seat. Phil Garabaldi did the same in the back.

"Sorry to startle you," Evans said with a chuckle. "And sorry we're a little late. There was a pile-up on the Santa Monica."

"What else is new?" Garabaldi muttered under his breath with a mirthless snort.

"Mike already in there?" Evans gestured through the windshield with his chin.

"Yeah. Lonsdale got here early, just after 4."

Both LAPD lieutenants nodded reflexively. "That's good, that means he might leave early," Evans postulated. "And that's good news for us. Chris, our fingerprint guy, is going to join us in about an hour. You got the print card?"

"It's in here." Steve patted the large manila envelope on the seat between them.

"Good."

# # # # #

Mike had long since finished his burger and was nursing his second beer. Lonsdale was working on his third Guinness, had finished the paper and was now reading a Time magazine. He showed no sign of leaving.

Hiraro's was starting to get crowded. Members of the small band had begun to arrive and it looked like they were getting ready to do sound checks, something Mike was not looking forward to in the slightest. A second bartender had joined Cathy, and all the stools between Mike and Lonsdale were now occupied.

Suppressing a frustrated sigh, Mike stood up and slipped his wallet out of his jeans pocket. Cathy crossed towards him with the bill, setting it on the bar with a wink before moving away. Mike turned the bill over, took some cash out of his wallet and put it on top then headed for the door, catching Cathy's eye and making sure she noticed the money on the bar. As he opened the door, he looked back into the room once more; Lonsdale was paying as well.

His heart starting to pound, Mike stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up the street towards his car; he knew Steve would see him, even through the throngs that were now milling about. He was waiting to cross the busy avenue when he heard the door behind him open again and Lonsdale appeared, holding the door for a bunch of young revelers before he turned to his right and headed away.

Finally finding an opening in the traffic, Mike jogged across the street and strode quickly towards the sedan. Ahead of him he could the doors open and Steve, Evans and Garabaldi emerged, all three crossing towards him.

"We've got it," Mike said quickly when he was within earshot and didn't have to raise his voice. "Cathy has it. I'm sure she'll be out in a second."

"Great," Evans sighed. "Chris has a Forensic van around the corner up there," he nodded over his shoulder, then quickly raised both hands to head off the concern he knew would be forthcoming. "Don't worry, Mike, like I told Steve, it doesn't say 'Crime Lab' or 'LAPD' or anything like that on it. It's blank, it doesn't have any markings on it at all."

Mike chuckled with an exaggerated sigh.

"Here she comes," Garabaldi announced, looking over Mike's shoulder towards Hiraro's.

They all turned; Cathy was striding quickly towards them, a large plastic evidence bag in her right hand and a big smile on her face. She beamed at Mike like a proud co-conspirator when she got closer, holding out the evidence bag for Evans to take. With a quick thanks, he turned on his heel, crossed back to the blue sedan and leaned into the driver's side window. When he straightened back up he had the manila envelope in his hand. He nodded at the others then headed briskly further up the street and around the corner.

When he disappeared, they all looked at Cathy, who was pointing in Evans' direction with a frown. "Chris?" she asked Garabaldi and he smiled and nodded. "Okay then, good work." She turned to Mike and grinned, holding out her hand for him to shake. "Great working with you, Lieutenant –"

"Mike," he interrupted with a laugh, squeezing her hand, and she chuckled.

"Right… Mike. I'm glad I could be of help. But I better get back in there and finish my shift!" she cackled infectiously and, glancing at Steve with an appreciative nod, turned to Garabaldi. "You'll let me know?"

"Of course," the LA lieutenant smiled. "Thanks again."

"Anytime!" she called over her shoulder as she started off. "My report'll be on your desk first thing in the morning. Good luck!"

Wreathed in smiles, they watched her go. Mike glanced at Garabaldi. "She really knows her game, doesn't she?"

Chuckling, the tall thin lieutenant started to lead them up the street to the forensic van. "She's one of the department's most valuable assets. We've used her undercover in a million places, believe me. She fits in anywhere."

They turned the corner to see Evans standing beside the open side door of a large dark brown van; he was watching something inside very intently. He glanced their way as they approached. "He's almost done," he said quietly, nodding with his chin towards the inside of the van.

A stocky grey-haired man with black-rimmed glasses was leaning over a small desk against the far wall of the van, peering through the magnifier he had placed over the San Francisco print card. Feeling four pairs of eyes burning holes in the back of his head, he straightened up and fixed them with a penetrating scowl. "It won't go any faster with all of you staring at me," he said with quiet authority, glaring at Evans as the others shuffled away, looking in different directions and clearing their throats.

"Got ya," Evans nodded, taking a giant step back and crossing to the others, who had reassembled several feet away, looking suitably chagrinned.

Mike looked at his partner. "Reminds me of Charlie." The younger man chuckled,

Evans smiled knowingly, glancing at his watch, trying to see the face in the dim streetlight. "Well, we've got plenty of time to get to Judge Crawley before midnight, which is a good thing." He looked at Mike. "So I want to talk to you about the arrest… if, ah, of course, Chris can confirm Lonsdale's identity."

Mike nodded. "Sure."

"Well, the way we do something like this is, we do it before dawn and we do it with our S.W.A.T. unit. We've done it a lot, and it works perfectly. We haven't had a problem yet and, from what I can tell about this guy, I think it's the way to go. Now you and Steve can come with us, of course, but you guys have to stay in your car and you can't participate in any way. We don't want to jeopardize your case with some jurisdictional bullshit. Agreed?" He looked from Mike to Steve and back again.

Both San Francisco detectives nodded. "You'll get no argument from me. I want this by the book," the older man assured.

"Good, then as soon as we've heard –"

"Bob!" came a sharp command from the van and all four turned as one. The forensic tech was waving them closer, his face unreadable. As they approached, he held up both print cards. "It's a match," he said evenly. "All five fingers of the right hand, more than 20 points for each print. Slam dunk."

Mike threw his head back and exhaled loudly, then raised his hands and ran them over his face as he lowered his head. Steve grinned in relief, reaching up to pat his partner on the back. Evans and Garabaldi were both smiling as they watched the interaction.

Mike's gaze was far away as he stood stock still, his hands steepled in front of his mouth; his chest was heaving. Steve was looking down, continuing to gently pat the older man's back.

Eventually Garabaldi softly cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, I'm gonna find a phone and call the judge, tell him we're on our way."

Evans nodded, still staring at Mike and the impact the news was having on the obviously overwhelmed lieutenant. With a gentle smile, he reached out and patted his arm. "Yeah, ah, tell him we'll be there shortly." As Garabaldi headed away, Evans said to Steve, "Look, ah, why don't you guys call it a night, go back to the motel and get some rest. Phil and I'll get the warrant and set everything up with S.W.A.T. for tomorrow morning and we'll give you a call later and bring you up to speed. That sound good?"

Steve glanced at Mike, who still hadn't moved, then back at Evans. "That sounds great. And, ah, I haven't had anything to eat yet so we'll probably stop somewhere first," he chuckled.

Mike shook his head quickly, as if trying to break a spell, and smile self-consciously at the others. "Uh, yeah, Bob, geez, what can I say? You guys have been…"

"You don't have to say anything, Mike," the LA lieutenant laughed, slapping the other man's arm again. "It's been our pleasure, believe me…" He raised a forefinger. "And don't forget, it's not over yet. The trickiest part is yet to come, right?"

Mike raised his eyebrows with a knowing shrug.

"But don't worry, we have a car on his house right now and will have all night. And if we play our cards right, and we usually do, then tomorrow morning will be routine and you two might even be on the road with our Mr. Lonsdale before noon." He beamed at both of them. "What do you say?"

Mike snorted, almost embarrassed, looking down and shaking his head. "I'd say the SFPD owes the LAPD a big one."

# # # # #

It was a moonless night, the only light the spill from the tiny houses lining the narrow street. They were sitting in the front seat of the blue sedan, Steve behind the wheel, a block and a half from Lonsdale's house on Palms Blvd. They had checked out of the motel, put their bags in the trunk and rendezvoused with Evans, Garabaldi and the S.W.A.T. team at Parker Center at 4 am.

In a small convoy of six vehicles, including another unmarked and three black-and-whites, they had sped silently down the almost empty Santa Monica Freeway then slipped quietly along the deserted Venice streets to Palms Blvd.

And now, at ten minutes to five on a Sunday morning, they watched as the black-clad S.W.A.T. officers climbed out of their large black truck and congregated around their commander. After a brief huddle, they spread out, silently surrounding the house, their AR-15s at the ready. Four officers approached the front door and, even from a block and a half away, Mike and Steve could hear the muffled order for the occupants to come out, the lack of response, and then the use of a small battering ram to break open the locked door.

Three officers, shouting at the top of their lungs, charged into the house and for several long beats, nothing seemed to be happening. Then suddenly, Lonsdale, barefoot, wearing a grey t-shirt and boxer shorts, his hands laced behind his head, was propelled out of the house onto the small front lawn. Surrounded by several SWAT officers with their rifles trained at his head, he dropped to his knees.

Evans and Garabaldi climbed out of a nearby car and, as two very relieved San Francisco detectives watched, Evans pulled Lonsdale's hands away from his head and began to snap the handcuffs around his wrists.


	14. Chapter 14

While Garabaldi recited the Miranda Warning and Evans finished snapping the cuffs into place, Mike and Steve slowly approached the small tableau. Lonsdale was looking down. "What are you arresting me for?!" he growled when Garabaldi asked if he understood his rights.

"Do you understand your rights?" the L.A. detective repeated patiently.

"Yeah, yeah. But what the hell am I being arrested for?" He was still looking down, refusing to meet their eyes.

Evans grabbed a handful of the salt-and-pepper hair and pulled his head up so he was looking straight at the two San Francisco detectives now standing directly in front of him. Lonsdale's haunting and unmistakable grey eyes widened in recognition then narrowed in confusion.

Steve smiled coldly. "Remember me, Danny? Steve Keller? I was the guy you told about that great Filipino restaurant." He had taken his badge out of his pocket and was holding it up. Lonsdale's eyes snapped to the very distinctive SFPD star and all colour drained from his face.

Continuing to stare silently, Mike took a step closer, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. Lonsdale swallowed noticeably. The tall detective stared down at the now sweating younger man in silence; Steve tensed slightly and every eye on the small front lawn was riveted on the bearded cop and the handcuffed fugitive. "My name is Stone, Lieutenant Mike Stone. You probably don't remember me, but I was in that courtroom way back in 1949 when you were arraigned for the murder of Brigitte Larson." His voice was low and frighteningly calm; Lonsdale stiffened. A sound very much like a whimper escaped his lips and he started to visibly shake.

"So now do you know why you're being arrested?" Mike asked quietly and Steve could see his partner trying to keep his mounting anger under control. Lonsdale blinked but didn't say a word. Mike took a deep, satisfying breath and let it out slowly. "Because we know who you are, Jeffrey Lonsdale… and we're bringing you back to San Francisco."

His chest heaving, Lonsdale stared at the obviously furious older man. Evans, his eyes bouncing back and forth between them, took a step closer to Lonsdale and reached down to grab his elbow. "On your feet," he growled and the handcuffed man, still staring at his accuser with a strange mixture of defiance and fear, stumbled to his feet.

Propelling Lonsdale towards his car, Evans called over his shoulder, "We'll meet you guys back downtown."

Before starting to follow, Garabaldi looked at Mike and smiled. "I was wondering why you hadn't shaved your beard off yet, like you said you were going to. You wanted to make sure he recognized you from the bar, didn't you?"

Allowing himself a small smile, Mike rubbed his hairy chin with his right hand. "Well, that… and I'm kinda getting used to it too."

Laughing, Garabaldi crossed the small lawn to his car and got in behind the wheel. Evans and Lonsdale were already in the back seat. Mike turned to his partner, who was staring at him with a gentle smirk.

"You're getting used to it… right…" Steve chuckled as he started back up the street towards the sedan.

"What?" Mike almost whined as he started to follow. "I think it looks kind of distinguished… don't you…?"

The younger man looked over his shoulder and laughed. "Yeah, wait till Rudy sees it."

"Hunh," Mike snorted to himself, "Rudy's not going to see it, don't worry." He stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the unmarked car driving away. He exhaled loudly and closed his eyes; his heart was still pounding. _We got him…_

# # # # # #

Wrinkling his nose, Steve looked up, sniffing the air. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked and Garabaldi lifted his head from the papers in his hand, inhaled deeply, and nodded. They were standing in the lobby at Parker Center.

"Oh, yeah, those summer fires we're so famous for down here. One of them started overnight, just north of the Valley near Santa Clarita. The winds are whipping it around up there so they might be closing the highway…" He stopped as the realization hit him. "Oh geez, let me check on that. If they've closed the 5, you guys will have to go another way."

He stepped behind the lobby desk, nodding at the sergeant manning the post, and picked up the phone, dialing a few numbers. "Ah, yeah, yeah, Sergeant Daley please?... Thank you." He put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Highway Patrol. They'll know what's what and the best way to go." He removed his hand. "Yeah, Paul, it's Phil over in Homicide… Yeah, great, just great. Listen…"

Steve watched as Garabaldi explained the situation and waited for his questions to be answered. Stuffing the receiver between his ear and shoulder, the L.A. lieutenant gestured at the sergeant, who opened a drawer and took out a map and a green highlighter. "Okay, great… great, thanks, Paul. Yeah, good luck to you too."

Garabaldi hung up, shaking his head ruefully as he made notations on the map before looking up with a wry smile. "Well, it's gonna take you a couple of hours longer, but if you take this route east first and then up through the Angeles National Forest, not only is it pretty but it'll get you past all the crap going on around the 5." He turned the map around and Steve leaned over the desk to get a better look.

"Wouldn't it be better to hug the coast?"

Garabaldi snorted. "You didn't hear? They had a rockslide on the PCH last Thursday. It's closed both ways for about a week." He shrugged at Steve's elevated eyebrows. "Welcome to Southern California!"

"Dear god, and I thought all you guys had to worry about was sunburn and the occasional earthquake," Steve chuckled. "So which way do we go from here?"

Garabaldi had just pointed to a spot on the map when they heard Evans and Mike approaching. The San Francisco lieutenant had a fairly thick file folder in one hand and a very satisfied look on his face; it seemed that things had gone well.

Steve raised his eyebrows as they reached the desk. Mike answered with a grin and held the folder up. "Signed, sealed and about to be delivered. They're waiting with Lonsdale down in the garage. We can go any time."

"Then we'd better hit the road 'cause we gotta take a detour."

Mike frowned. "What?"

"I'll explain while we head to the garage. Gentlemen," he turned to the others, and the four started towards the elevator, a confused Mike a step behind his smiling partner.

# # # # #

A subdued Lonsdale, now in jeans, a white t-shirt and sneakers, his hands still cuffed behind his back, was standing between two very large uniformed officers near the elevators in the garage. The blue sedan was parked nearby.

Masking his simmering anger behind his professionalism, Mike nodded at the officers as he crossed to the passenger side of his car, reached in the open window and opened the glove box. He took out his own pair of handcuffs and his gun. With studied deliberateness, he snapped the .38 on the belt of his dress pants, glancing at his partner as he returned to the small group. "Get yours," he ordered softly and smoothly, handing the keys to his partner. Frowning, Steve stepped to the trunk, opened it and rooted through his overnight bag.

One of the uniformed officers took the cuffs off Lonsdale, who automatically brought his hands forward and rubbed his wrists, glaring at Mike as he did so. The veteran cop stared back, not moving. With a heavy sigh, Lonsdale started to put his hands behind himself again.

"No," Mike grunted, "in front."

As everyone frowned, Lonsdale hesitantly held his hands out, wrists close together. Mike slapped the cuffs on then grabbed Lonsdale's elbow, steered him towards the passenger side back door and opened it. "Get in," he ordered and, with another angry glare, the felon ducked awkwardly and almost fell onto the seat. "Steve!" The younger man moved closer and held out his cuffs. Mike took them, pushing one end under the headrest on the back of the front seat then looping it around to lock it onto itself. He then snapped the other end around the short chain on the cuffs Lonsdale was already wearing, effectively tethering him to the seat.

Evans and Garabaldi had gravitated closer to the car and were watching with impressed smiles. "Well well well, very nice," Evans chuckled with an appreciative nod and Mike straightened up with a sharp nod.

"Well, it's either that or we listen to him bitch for the next ten or twelve hours about having to sit on his hands. Although with him driving," he jerked a thumb in Steve's direction and smiling slightly, "we could get there a lot sooner… Speaking of which," he looked at his partner and raised his eyebrows, "you're right - we do have to get going if we want to get home sometime today."

Shaking hands all around, and with promises to call when they reached The City, both San Francisco detectives crossed around to the driver's side of the Ford. Slipping his own holster and .38 onto the left side of his belt, Steve slid in behind the wheel while Mike climbed into the back seat beside Lonsdale and, with final waves, the blue sedan began to roll across the asphalt, up the ramp and out into the hazy morning sunshine.

# # # # #

The Sunday morning traffic was lighter than expected but still heavier than they would have thought; Angelenos always seemed to be on the move. They got across the city pretty quickly and headed up the 2 into the Angeles National Forest. The spring had been unusually dry, even by southern California standards, and the vegetation lining both sides of the hilly two-lane highway was already brown and withered.

Conversation had so far been non-existent. Mike was content to let the silence speak for itself, punctuated by steely glances. He was biding his time, knowing he had several hours yet to slowly work on the seemingly emotionless man sitting next to him. He was content to let the former fugitive stew in his own juices for a while longer.

Steve glanced to his left, at the rolling hills and valleys stretching out along both sides of the narrow highway. This was a part of the state he'd never seen before, and it was very different from what he was used to upstate. And traffic was non-existent right now, as far as he could tell; they hadn't passed a vehicle of any description since they'd entered the state park.

The car rounded a gentle bend in the road and started up a fairly steep hill. He glanced down at the speedometer; the needle was just below 60. He smiled to himself, impressed by the power Mike's 'daddy car' was exhibiting.

They were just cresting the top of the hill when he saw it – the cherry red Chevelle in his lane, less than a hundred feet away and coming straight at him. "Shit!" he yelled involuntarily as he clocked the station wagon the muscle car was passing in the other lane, instantaneously knowing he couldn't turn in that direction and cranking the steering wheel to the right, jamming his foot on the brake.

The sedan began to slew sideways, the tires trying futilely to grip the road, leaving thick black skid marks as they protested the maneuver, momentum carrying the car forward despite the driver's frantic evasive efforts. Not slowing down, the Chevelle plowed into the blue Ford just behind the driver's side back door.

The impact spun the sedan around, the front end smashing into the side of the Chevelle before it was jolted backwards and sideways towards the edge of the road. Then gradually, as if in slow motion, the dark blue Ford tumbled into the ditch, rolling once before coming to rest on its left side.


	15. Chapter 15

"Hey!... hear me?... fella! Can you….?"

Words starting to coalesce as he struggled to regain consciousness, Steve felt a wave of pain wash over his entire body. Someone was pounding on the now perpendicular hood, lookng at him through the shattered windshield. He opened his eyes slowly, trying to focus on the face of the middle-aged man who was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Are you okay?" The voice was urgent and concerned.

Very slowly, Steve shifted slightly, trying to straighten up. He was still behind the steering wheel, lying on his left side against the door; his head was resting on the dry sandy ground now abutting the open door window. He caught his breath in a sharp gasp as a stabbing pain shot through his chest, closing his eyes and moaning.

"Don't move, don't move!" the stranger ordered, trying to reach through the broken windshield to offer comfort and restraint. "I'll go get help!"

"No…!" Steve called out with as much strength as he could muster. The stranger stopped and looked back. "No… please… my partner…"

"There's more people in there?" Now there was almost panic in the man's voice.

Steve tried to nod. "Two…" came out in another gasp.

"Oh, geez… I gotta go get help." The stranger started to get up then looked back into the wreck again, meeting the pleading, pain-filled green eyes. "I'll be right back, I promise."

He disappeared from Steve's sight but his voice shouting, "Help! I need help down here! Help!" filled the air around him, followed by the diminishing sound of footsteps pounding up a dirt hill.

Wrapping his right arm around his protesting ribs, Steve tried to push himself up and away from the door. Breathing in short, sharp gasps, he managed to crawl out from under the steering wheel to kneel against the door. As he started to lean forward so he could see into the back seat, he heard a soft, pain-filled voice, "Get me outa here." He knew it was Lonsdale.

Grabbing the back of the seat, now more a doorframe than a wall, he looked into the back. Mike, his eyes closed, was lying on his left side against the buckled metal of the door, frighteningly still. Lonsdale's legs and lower torso were on top of the unconscious lieutenant, his arms and shoulders awkwardly suspended by the cuffs that still chained his hands to the back of the front seat. "Get me outa here," he repeated weakly as he met the cop's eyes, both of them obviously shocked that they were still alive.

"Are you hurt?" Steve managed to get out, continuing to stare at his unmoving partner, looking desperately for any sign of life.

Lonsdale moaned. "I think my wrist is broken…"

Almost reluctantly, Steve shifted his focus, slowly turning his head to look at the handcuffs. Despite everything he felt about their prisoner, he winced in sympathy. Lonsdale's left wrist was twice the size, the metal cuff digging into the swollen flesh.

"You gotta take 'em off," Lonsdale begged, pain lacing his voice.

Steve looked straight into his eyes but didn't move.

"Come on, man, we both gotta get outa here. Can't you smell the gas?" The middle-aged murderer sounded desperate, his startlingly grey eyes boring into the cop's impassive face.

Fighting the agonizing pain in his chest, Steve took a deep breath. Lonsdale was right; he could smell gas. They had left L.A. with almost a full tank.

"It's gonna blow."

Steve looked down at Mike and swallowed, weighing the few options he had, hoping that the man who had appeared in the broken windshield would return. "We gotta get him outa here too."

Lonsdale glanced down at the unconscious cop and nodded. "I'll help you… I promise… Just… just get us outa here…"

Steve straightened up as best he could, wincing and catching his breath. He took his right hand away from his ribs and reached into his front pants pocket, extracting a small key. Holding onto the passenger seat headrest with his left hand, trying to pull himself higher, he reached for the lock on the cuff encircling the swollen left wrist. He failed in his first two attempts to get the key in the small lock. "I need some slack."

Groaning, Lonsdale struggled to get his feet under him, trying to avoid stepping on the body beneath him. He was finally able to get onto his knees, gasping in pain as he lifted his hands a little higher.

On his second try, Steve got the tiny key into the lock and the cuff unsnapped with a click. Lonsdale moaned, closing his eyes and trying not to move; the cuff was still around his wrist. Putting the key between his teeth, and keeping his left hand on the headrest for stability, Steve gently pried the cuff away from the puffy flesh. Lonsdale sagged slightly, bringing his left arm down and against his stomach protectively. Steve undid the other cuff and Lonsdale fell back into the well of the shattered back window, groaning in agony and gasping for breath, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Is he alive?" Steve asked, his eyes once more glued to his partner as he slid back down to the door, attempting to reach over the seat back to touch the unconscious man who was slumped against the back of the seat against the buckled door.

Lonsdale opened his tear-filled eyes. "What?" he breathed.

"Is he alive?!" Steve almost shouted, grimacing in pain at the effort.

With a groan, Lonsdale shifted slightly so he could put his right hand on the older cop's neck. After a couple of seconds he nodded. "He has a pulse…"

Steve closed his eyes and sagged against the roof as a wave of relief flooded over him. After a couple of seconds he raised himself onto his knees again and looked into the back seat. "Can you get out through the back window?" Lonsdale opened his eyes again, looked over his shoulder briefly then nodded. "All right… I think I can get out the front. Then we can pull Mike out the back window…"

The grey eyes met his once more then, with a curt nod, the former fugitive repositioned himself slowly and started kicking at the jagged shards of glass that still rimmed the edges of the shattered rear window.

Wrapping his right arm around his chest again, Steve struggled to get to his feet and into a crouch. He had to step over the steering wheel to get out and he knew it was going to hurt like hell, but he had to get to Mike and fast. He was just about to take the first big step when he heard an urgent voice and thudding footsteps growing rapidly louder.

Suddenly the man in the windshield reappeared, squatting to peer into the front seat, surprised to see the injured young man half standing. "Good, good," he said quickly, sounding relieved, "yeah, you gotta get outa there. There's gas leaking from the tank." One hand on the hood to steady himself, he reached through the broken windshield and offered the other. He was just about to take Steve's hand when he hesitated, his eyes widening. "You're bleeding."

Frowning, the younger man hesitated. "What?"

Pointing at Steve's head, then his own, he said softly, "Your, ah, your forehead… there's blood running down your forehead… You musta hit the wheel."

Taking his left hand off the steering wheel, where he'd been steadying himself, he wiped it across his brow, frowning when it came away covered in blood. He stared at it, blinking blankly; he hadn't felt a thing. Then, slowly, he reached out to take windshield man's hand and stepped carefully over the steering column between the shards of glass onto the dirt.

Everything spun. His knees buckled and he sunk to the ground, feeling windshield man's arms quickly grab him and help him down.

"Easy, easy, easy…" he heard the soothing voice in his ears as he closed his eyes, trying to fight the nausea. "Mike… I gotta get to my… my partner…" He tried to climb back onto his feet but the strong hands held him down.

"You're in no condition, son, you better just stay here. The cops are comin'… and an ambulance… they should be here soon…"

Steve tried to get up again. "Lonsdale…"

"Is that your partner?"

Steve struggled against the older man's grip and managed to get to his knees, the pain in his chest almost overwhelming. "No…no, he's…" He sank back to the dirt, closing his eyes.

"The guy with the broken wrist?"

Licking his dry lips, the younger man nodded.

"He's okay… He's sitting against a tree over there. I think he's in a lot of pain."

A couple of shouts could be heard from above, and suddenly the frantic burble of a male and a female voice could be heard. "Oh my god," the woman almost shouted, "oh my god, what can we do to help?"

Steve felt more than heard her approach. He looked up, trying to focus on her face as he attempted to stand again. "My partner… he's still in the car… he's hurt…"

He could see her staring at him, see her short grey hair and her wide, concerned blue eyes. She turned to windshield man quickly. "We have to get him out," she said, urgency lacing her voice.

Windshield man pushed Steve back down onto the ground. "You stay here, we'll do it." They disappeared quickly around to the back of the car. He watched them go, then twisted slowly so he ended up on his knees and left hand, carefully pushing himself to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, black spots swimming before his eyes.

He staggered around the car, vaguely clocking an older man kneeling in front of Lonsdale, who was leaning against a small tree, cradling his broken wrist in his lap. In the bright sunshine, he noticed a patch of blood on the right side of Lonsdale's head.

The woman brushed past him on the run and charged back up the hill. Steve rounded the car, still stunned that it was lying on its side at the bottom of the ditch. Windshield man was kneeling just outside the rear window, carefully leaning into the back seat. He looked over his shoulder when he heard the stumbling footsteps, only mildly surprised it seemed to see the young man standing there.

Suppressing an almost sad sigh, he smiled encouragingly. "He's breathing. Don't you worry, we'll get him out… he'll be okay. She's, ah," he pointed vaguely up towards the road, "she's gone to get a blanket. We're worried about all this glass. We're gonna roll him onto the blanket so we can drag him out without having to worry about all the glass… Okay?"

After a beat of stunned silence, Steve nodded with a grateful smile.

"Got it," the woman gasped as she ran by him again then dropped quickly to her knees, starting to unfold the thick grey wool blanket. "Gary!" she called.

The older man hurried into view, glancing at Steve as he passed. "What do you need me to do?" He knelt beside his wife.

Steve watched as windshield man carefully stepped through the broken rear window with the blanket, and he could see them easing Mike away from the seat towards the door, sliding the blanket under him then rolling him back onto it. Then, with windshield man remaining in the car to keep the limp body on the blanket, the older couple began to slowly and carefully drag his partner through the narrow window opening, over the broken glass and onto the hard, sandy ground.

Relieved but worried, Steve stepped closer, his eyes raking his partner's body, looking for obvious injuries. There was blood on the left side of Mike's head and his breathing was rapid and shallow. Taking another step forward, Steve was just about to drop to his knees when he froze. The leather holster on Mike's right hip was unsnapped and empty.

Catching his breath, Steve took a couple of steps back and looked towards the small tree. Lonsdale was gone.


	16. Chapter 16

Almost unable to catch his breath, more from surprise and shock than from the pain, Steve staggered a couple of steps away from the car, looking around, trying to spot Lonsdale. He swallowed heavily; their prisoner was gone… and chances were very good he had Mike's gun.

He turned back towards the scene unfolding at the back of the wrecked car; windshield man and the older couple were sliding the blanket with his injured partner further away from the car. The smell from the leaking gas was getting stronger with each passing minute.

He was torn. He didn't want to leave Mike, especially not knowing how badly he was hurt, but he couldn't let Lonsdale get away. He also knew he wasn't up to a foot chase but he couldn't hear the wail of approaching sirens and he knew if he waited too long, any chance of anyone catching up with Lonsdale would disappear entirely.

Right arm wrapped around his chest, he stumbled over to the tree Lonsdale had been leaning against. There were a lot of footprints in the sandy soil around it but he could make out a fresh set of sneaker prints heading to the left and into the undergrowth.

Steve looked around again. The immediate area was sparsely dotted with head-high bushes and patches of tall grass. There was a tree line in the distance but he couldn't tell how far away it was. He knew his tracking skills were minimal, but he couldn't let Lonsdale get away without putting up some kind of fight. He owed it to Brigitte Larson, and he owed it to Mike.

He looked back at what was left of the blue sedan and took as deep a breath as he dared, wincing and closing his eyes. In his present condition he knew there was nothing he could do for Mike right now, that the three strangers were his partner's best chance for survival at this point. And he hoped that windshield man was right and that help was indeed on its way.

His right hand slid down his left side and touched the grip of his .38. He hoped he wouldn't need it but was glad he had it. With a final look back at the car, he wrapped his right arm around his chest again and started to follow the footprints.

# # # # #

The California State Park police car, siren wailing, slid to a stop well away from the accident scene. A cherry red Chevelle, its front end totally destroyed, the windshield shattered and the left front tire flat, was straddling the right lane diagonally. A station wagon was haphazardly parked on the shoulder on the left while a maroon Buick Century sat about a hundred feet further down on the same shoulder.

After barking orders into the mic and dropping it onto the front seat, the lone officer got out of his cruiser and sprinted to the Chevelle. He knew before he got to it that the driver, the lone occupant, was dead. His eyes dropped to the pavement, to the thick black skid marks that scored the right lane and disappeared over the embankment. He sprinted to the edge and looked down.

He took in the scene in an instant: the blue sedan lying on its left side, three people huddled around what looked like an injured victim they had pulled from the back of the car, the smell of gas. He clambered down the short hill and approached the Good Samaritans.

A florid-faced middle-aged man looked up at him and exhaled in obvious relief. "Oh, thank god you're here. He needs an ambulance fast." He nodded over his shoulder at the bearded older man lying frighteningly still on the blanket.

The woman had stood up. "He's having trouble breathing and there's blood on his lips. I think he may have a collapsed lung," she said quickly; she sounded almost frantic. At the cop's frown, she shrugged slightly. "I was a school nurse…"

The cop nodded. "There's paramedics and an ambulance on the way." As if on cue, they could all hear the growing wails of other approaching sirens. The officer stepped closer to the blanket. "Was he the only one in the car?"

The middle-aged man shook his head. "No, there's two others." He hesitated, realizing the cop should have seen them as he came down the hill. He took a few steps away from the car and looked around. "Where are they…?" he asked in wonder, almost to himself. Frowning, he looked at the woman and they both shrugged.

The cop looked from the confused pair back to the man on the blanket and he froze, his eyes falling on the empty holster on the unconscious man's right hip. It was a police officer's holster. Kneeling, he gently patted Mike's right pants pocket, then carefully reached in and extracted a leather case. He flipped it open, exposing the gold star and I.D. He swallowed heavily and briefly closed his eyes.

Slipping the case into his own pocket, he snapped the flashlight off of his duty belt and crossed to the rear window of the blue sedan, kneeling and running the beam over the interior. His eyes fell on the two pairs of handcuffs dangling from the passenger side headrest, the bottom pair undone. On the floor of the backseat against the left door was a crumpled file folder. He reached through the broken window and snagged a corner.

Almost immediately he could make out the LAPD logo on the front cover. Standing up, he set the folder on the fender of the car and opened it. It didn't take long to realize he had a major situation on his hands.

# # # # #

The sneaker prints disappeared quickly in the tall grass, but he was pretty sure he could tell where the stalks had been trampled. He gripped his ribs tighter, hoping to quell the growing agony, to no affect. Sweat mixed with blood started dripping into his eyes. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

He knew he was losing ground with every step. Lonsdale was only nursing a broken wrist, as far as he knew; he could be halfway back to L.A. by now, Steve thought with a mirthless snort as he plowed on, the shockwave from every step shuddering through his bruised and battered body.

# # # # #

The wails of the sirens petered out and there were a few long moments of dead silence before two paramedics carrying medical equipment appeared at the top of the embankment then started down quickly. Three uniformed firefighters peered over the edge into the ditch before two of them retreated, only to reappear seconds later with a fire hose and began to descend into the small ravine.

Things began to move at an accelerated speed. The injured man, now wrapped in the blanket, was lifted further away from the wreck as the firemen opened the hose nozzle and doused the car and the growing puddle of gas until any threat of a fire or an explosion was eliminated.

As the three Good Samaritans stood back and watched, their assistance no longer required, the paramedics went to work on their patient. After their initial assessment that he had suffered no obvious broken bones in his extremities, Mike's shirt was cut open and his chest exposed. Even from a distance, everyone could see the large bruise that was starting to appear on his left side. One of the paramedics stuck a stethoscope in his ears, moving the diaphragm to various areas on Mike's chest, then nodded at his partner.

Suddenly the ravine was alive with activity. With the firefighters poring over the car, making sure it posed no further threat, two more State Park rangers appeared followed by two ambulance attendants carrying a litter. While the cops went immediately to the wreck, the ambulance attendants set the litter on the ground near the paramedics, who were feverishly working on the injured man.

One of the State Park officers approached the Good Samaritans. "Excuse me, which one of you was in the station wagon up there?" He pointed over his shoulder towards the road.

Windshield man took a step towards him. "Yeah, that's mine. Henry… ah, Henry Caplan."

"You were a witness to all this, Mr. Caplan?"

"God, yeah… stupid asshole. He tried to pass me on the hill… the other guy didn't stand a chance…"

The officer pointed at Mike. "This guy?"

Caplan glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head. "No… no, this guy was in the back with another fella. I, uh, I meant the guy that was driving."

The cop looked around, frowning. "Where are the other two?"

Caplan shrugged and glanced at the woman, who had joined them.

"Dorothy Hodges," she nodded, smiling perfunctorily. "My husband and I were, well, I guess we were the first on the scene," she shrugged. "But he's right, there were three of them. The other two were younger. I don't know where they went…"

"Were they hurt?"

"The driver had broken ribs, I think, and his forehead was bleeding. The other one had a broken wrist," Caplan explained.

"Ranger!" one of the paramedics called out and the officer looked up. The paramedic beckoned him with a jerk of his head.

The Park cop took a few steps closer. Their patient was now on oxygen, his head bandaged, his neck in a brace and an IV in his right arm. A small pool of blood stained the blanket and ground beneath the left side of his chest where a drainage tube had been inserted between his ribs. He was almost ready for transport. The paramedic met the cop's gaze and pointed at the empty holster. When their eyes met again, the cop nodded slightly.

He moved away and approached the car. On top of the rear fender, being held down by a black leather case, was the open LAPD file.

# # # # #

The pain was getting the better of him. The black spots swimming before his eyes were getting bigger and he was having more and more trouble staying on his feet. He was pretty sure Lonsdale was long gone but he wouldn't stop… he couldn't stop, he kept repeating to himself. He had to do this for Mike.

"Mike…" The name escaped his lips as a breathless strangled sigh. He felt the sting of tears and he gasped, not in pain but worry and fear. He had no idea how badly hurt his partner was, but he knew it didn't look good.

He tripped over a tree root and fell heavily to his knees, unable to stop the cry of pain that tore from his lips. He fell forward onto his left hand, his right arm still wrapped around his chest, gasping for breath.

When the pain subsided enough, he moved slowly to sit down, dropping his head between his raised knees and breathing shallowly through his open mouth. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he felt strong enough to crawl to his feet again, one hand on the tree as he straightened up.

He took a deep breath, knowing he had very little left to give in this increasingly futile pursuit but he would give it his all. He had just pushed himself away from the tree and staggered several steps when he heard it – the sharp crack of a branch breaking. He froze, holding his breath. His heart began to pound.

Suddenly he felt something hard and cold press against his skull behind his right ear and a deep voice whispered, "Don't… move…"


	17. Chapter 17

He could almost feel the hot breath on the back of his neck. He didn't move. The barrel of the gun dug a little deeper as a hand snaked around his body, deftly unsnapping his holster and removing the .38.

"You're a cop, right?" The voice was definitely not Lonsdale's.

Stunned, Steve blinked quickly several times, trying to get his bearings. "Uh… uh, yeah," he finally got out, "uh, Inspector Keller, San Francisco Homicide." After what seemed like a very long second, the pressure from the gun barrel disappeared. He closed his eyes, exhaling loudly through his mouth and swaying. A hand grabbed his elbow in support.

"Easy, easy, easy," the deep voice murmured, "here, sit down, sit down."

His knees beginning to buckle, Steve allowed himself to be lowered to the ground, his right arm still around his chest. Safely down, he finally looked at the face attached to the voice. A tall, dark-haired State Park officer, not much older than himself, was staring at him with concern.

"Listen, ah, that guy you're after…? He's long gone." The strong voice was now tinged with sympathy. "Why don't we get you back to the highway and have those paramedics get a good look at you. It looks like you took quite a crack to the forehead there... What do you say?"

Steve was shaking his head, "No…no, I gotta…" He tried to get to his feet again but the officer held him down.

"No, you don't. You have to let us look for him; he's our problem now. He's in a State Park. We can set up roadblocks, and we can get a helicopter up and see if they can spot him a lot better than you and me tramping around down here. All right?"

Reluctantly admitting to himself that the cop was right, Steve began to nod, stopping quickly when a wave of nausea washed over him. He leaned forward and dry retched. The cop knelt beside him quickly, one hand on his left arm, the other supporting his back. After a couple of tense seconds, the San Francisco detective relaxed and nodded and the ranger helped him to his feet, keeping a hand on his arm to steady him.

Gaining his balance, Steve flashed a small, grateful smile. "My, ah, my name's Steve."

The young officer flashed a toothy grin. "Dale Gardner. So, ah, let's get you out of here, all right? You okay to walk out on your own?"

Steve nodded. As Gardner turned and began to head back the way he had come, Steve stopped him. "Hey, ah, my partner… how's he doing?"

Gardner stopped and turned back, trying to put on a good face. He smiled slightly, encouragingly. "I'm sure the paramedics are taking care of him. I could hear their sirens when I left to find you so I know they're with him. They'll look after him, don't worry…" He tried to sound more confident than he felt; the lieutenant hadn't looked very good.

Gardner took a few long strides then turned, realizing the injured inspector couldn't keep up. He slowed his pace. After several silent seconds, he glanced back. "We aren't too far from the highway… you were almost paralleling it. It won't take long to get there then I'll radio for someone –" He stopped abruptly and froze, listening.

"Dale!" The loud stage whisper was coming from somewhere up ahead.

Gardner relaxed. "Jack! We're over here!"

Another Park ranger, this one a head shorter and with a military buzzcut under his hat, came into view, the gun in his right hand held down at his side. "I heard your voices," he smiled at Gardner, frowning when his eyes fell on the bloody and obviously injured young man behind him. Holstering his gun, he crossed to Steve quickly. "You're the 'Frisco cop, right?" he asked, glancing at Gardner, who nodded in confirmation.

Swaying slightly and trying to smile, Steve nodded. "Steve Keller," he got out between soft gasps.

The older ranger smiled. "Jack Duncan." He snorted dryly. "I'm glad Dale found you, you're in no shape to go walking around in these forests, especially after a fugitive. You leave that up to us."

"That's what I told him," Gardner offered with a short chuckle. "I'm gonna get him to the road and radio for a car to pick him up."

"Good," Duncan approved as his colleague started away again and he fell into step behind Steve. "Andy and Ricardo are at the crash site; they've got the road blocked off. And the firefighters and paramedics are there too."

Trying to stay on his feet, looking down to make sure he didn't fall again, Steve asked through clenched teeth, "How's my partner?"

"Lieutenant Stone?" Duncan asked almost rhetorically, suddenly unsure how much information he should relay at the moment. "They were getting ready to load him in the ambulance when I left. They're on the way to the hospital as we speak." He hoped he sounded optimistic.

"Was he awake?"

"Ah, I'm not sure, I didn't get that close… ah, sorry…" he lied, his eyes glued to the back of Steve's head, relieved when the younger man didn't pursue the subject.

By the time they reached the culvert beside the highway, Steve was struggling to walk. Gardner had slowed the pace to a crawl and Duncan had taken hold of the young detective's left elbow and was offering what physical support he could. Both rangers were very worried.

Gardner stopped at the base of the small hill that led up to the road. He glanced at Duncan, his brow raised then looked at Steve, whose head was down, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. "Ah, you think you can make it up there?" Gardner asked gently and the cop looked up.

After a couple of indecisive seconds, Steve nodded.

"Good," Gardner said quietly, glanced at his colleague again then sprinted up the hill, slipping the walkie-talkie off his duty belt and thumbing the talk button.

Duncan put his hand on Steve's elbow again and smiled encouragingly. "You ready?"

The younger man nodded uncertainly.

"Good."

Slowly, the pair started up the steep hill, one agonizing step at a time. It was tough going and Steve slipped a couple of times, catching his breath. Duncan's grip on his arm tightened. By the time they started to crest the hill, Steve was in a half-crouch, obviously labouring.

Gardner had finished his talkie conversation and approached them at a jog, reaching out to help Steve negotiate the last few feet to the shoulder of the two-lane blacktop. The welcoming sound of an approaching siren could be heard.

Steve, sweat mixed with blood dripping from his face and his wet shirt sticking to his back, was bent over, gasping for air. Then, without warning, he pitched forward. Duncan caught him before he hit the ground.

# # # # #

The sounds – voices, footsteps, beeps – were distorted and indistinct, fading in and out. He seemed to be floating. He tried to open his eyes but the bright, artificial light was overwhelming and they closed automatically, protectively.

He tried to take a deep breath but the pain in his chest cut it off in a gasp. He could hear someone take a step closer, could feel someone leaning over him. He opened his eyes a slit once more, seeing a dark void in the stark pale blue light above him.

"Mr. Keller, can you hear me?" It was the soft, mature voice of an older woman.

He blinked a couple of times, trying to get his mouth to cooperate with his sluggish mind. A moan escaped his lips. He felt a soft warm hand slip into his right hand, which was lying at his side.

"Squeeze my hand if you can hear me," the voice encouraged.

He curled his fingers as best he could.

"Good, good." He could hear the smile in her voice. The hand disappeared. "I'll be right back with the doctor." The shadow over him disappeared.

He tried to open his eyes a little wider, squinting involuntarily at the bright fluorescents above him. He knew he was in a hospital, the bed surrounded by a circular white curtain; the beeps were coming from a heart monitor to this left. He felt the pinch of an IV needle in the back of his right hand.

He was in pain. The left side of his chest was aching in a way he'd never felt before; he couldn't take a deep breath. He slowly raised his right hand to touch his chest just over his sternum; under the thin cotton of the hospital gown he could feel the wide tensor bandage around his ribcage.

He closed his eyes. His head was aching too. His right fingers found their way to his forehead, touching the gauze bandage that encircled his head, anchoring the large dressing above his left eye.

He let his hand drop back to the bed with a soft groan. Snippets of memory were beginning to come back – the red Chevelle, the blue sedan on its side, his partner lying unconscious in the back seat…

His eyes shot wide and he tried to sit up; the pain was overwhelming and with a strangled cry he slumped to the bed, closing his eyes. The curtains fluttered wildly as a nurse and a doctor hurried into the cubicle. He tried to sit up again but hands gently grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down; he offered no resistance.

"Easy, easy, Mr. Keller, just relax…" he heard the male voice just inches from his ear. "Just relax…"

He gasped for breath, his entire body rigid as he fought against the pain in his chest. The hands on his shoulders continued to offer support and comfort. He opened his eyes slightly; he could see the doctor nod at the nurse and she straightened up. She picked up a small vial and syringe from a kidney dish on the bedside table, quickly and efficiently infusing the pain medication into the IV line.

Within seconds Steve could feel a warmth on the back of his right hand which quickly started to spread up his arm; the pain in his chest began to recede and he relaxed, his body sinking back onto the bed. The hands on his shoulders disappeared.

He lay there for several long seconds with his eyes closed; his breaths became longer and deeper. He knew the nurse and doctor were standing over him, waiting patiently. With an almost relieved sigh, he opened his eyes and they both smiled warmly.

"Better?" the doctor asked and he smiled as best he could. "Good."

The nurse nodded at the doctor and stepped away from the bed. Steve's eyes followed her sluggishly then looked at the man standing over him. He smiled again. "I'm Doctor Williams. I've been looking after you since they brought you in a couple of hours ago. How are you feeling?"

Steve blinked slowly and swallowed, trying to lick his dry lips. Williams leaned forward quickly and picked up a water glass with a bendable straw that was sitting on the bedside table. "Give me a second," he said quickly, still holding the glass as he picked up the remote control and raised the head of the bed so its occupant was almost sitting up. "Does that feel okay?"

Steve, who had been holding his breath while the bed moved, nodded. "Yeah…" he breathed.

With a satisfied nod, Williams sat on the edge of the bed and held the glass for his patient to take a few small sips. As the doctor put the glass back on the table, Steve laid his head back on the pillow.

"Where am I?"

"You're in the Huntington Hospital."

Steve frowned slightly. "In L.A.?"

Williams smiled slightly. "Well, ah, Pasadena, but close enough…" he chuckled. "You were in a car accident in the Angeles Park. Do you remember that?"

Swallowing, Steve nodded. Then he caught his breath. "My partner… Mike… Lieutenant Stone. He was with me… he was hurt… Is he here too?"

Williams frowned. "Ah, I don't know, sorry… I've been treating you and a bunch of other people… Saturday night, you know… There were a lot of shootings last night…" He could see the younger man's rising agitation. Patting his leg soothingly, he stood up. "I'll go check… I'll go see if he's here. You just relax."

As Williams disappeared through the curtains, Steve's head fell back and he stared at the ceiling, tears of worry stinging his eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

It seemed like he was waiting forever, staring at the ceiling, trying not to let his worry and fear overwhelm him. He could hear the sounds of a busy emergency room around him, the murmur of voices, the endless footsteps, the squeak of wheels, the beeps of monitors, the occasional cries of pain or despair.

He had closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose, hoping to slow the pounding of his heart. He was only minimally successful.

He heard the curtain rattle and opened his eyes to see Dr. Williams step into the cubicle, making sure the curtain was closed behind him before he approached the bed. He was smiling. "Good news, Steve, so you can relax," he said with a soft chuckle as he parked himself on the side of the bed again. "I tracked your partner down. He is here and he's gonna be okay."

Steve exhaled loudly, bringing his right hand up to cover his eyes momentarily. His relief was palpable and Williams reached out to gently pat his leg.

"Where is he?" Steve breathed.

Williams hesitated for a beat, inhaling before he spoke. "Well, he's in the ICU right now," he said quickly, increasing the pressure of his hand on the young man's leg as he saw the green eyes widen in alarm, "but that's just a precaution. He has several broken ribs and his left lung collapsed in the accident. They put a chest tube in at the scene and it's going to stay in until tomorrow morning, so he's been sedated. That's why he's in the ICU, that's all. His life is not in danger."

Steve had been staring at him without blinking. Now he closed his eyes and released his held breath. "Is that all?"

Williams frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Does he have any other injuries?"

"Oh, ah… well, he has a mild concussion - which is remarkable, considering," he added almost as an aside to himself, "and a hairline fracture of his left shoulder blade." He raised his eyebrows and smiled. "But, ah, from what I've heard about the accident, the two of you got away lucky."

Steve was looking down at the blanket covering his legs. He nodded almost absent-mindedly. Then he looked up. "Can I see him?"

"Oooohhh," the doctor said quickly, sitting back slightly and lifting his hand, "I don't think that's going to happen today, I'm afraid. 'Cause he's not going anywhere right now and, well, neither are you, not with your busted ribs either. I'm afraid you're just going to have to take my word about things for the time being, all right?"

Frowning, Steve was staring at the middle-aged doctor; after a long second, he nodded.

"Good." Williams got to his feet. "Oh, ah, there's a couple of L.A. cops out there," he nodded over his shoulder, "who'd like to talk to you. You up for a couple of visitors?"

His frown deepening, Steve nodded again.

"Okay. I'll be back to see you later." He disappeared through the curtains. Less than a minute later, they opened again hesitantly and Evans and Garabaldi stepped into the cubicle. They both looked worried and shell-shocked.

"Good lord," Evans almost whispered as he crossed to the bed, frowning. "What the hell…" he breathed rhetorically, shaking his head sadly. He glanced back at his partner and swallowed heavily, then gestured at a nearby chair. "Are you up for this?"

Steve nodded, trying to smile. "Yeah… yeah, I'm okay right now." He glanced at the IV in the back of his right hand. "The drugs are working really well."

Garabaldi smiled almost self-consciously as he too reached for a chair. "That's good. But holy shit, Steve…" He glanced at Evans as they both sat. "We still can't believe what happened. And from what we've heard, all of you were lucky to get out alive."

"They won't let me see Mike… I haven't seen him since right after the accident…"

Both detectives were nodding sympathetically. "Yeah, ah, we were told he's in ICU but he's gonna be okay."

Steve's green eyes bored into Garabaldi's, as if a light bulb had just turned on. "He's allowed visitors. Phil, can you go see him? I just need someone besides a doctor to tell me he's okay."

Garabaldi's head went back slightly and his eyes widened. "Ah, yeah, sure." He glanced at his partner, both aware of the barely concealed desperation in the younger man's voice. "I'll go right now." He got up and left the room.

Evans watched as Steve visibly relaxed for a second then tensed again. "Lonsdale!"

"We know, we know," Evans interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "The Parks Service has their helicopter up, they've set up roadblocks and they've got some men on the ground. They haven't found him yet but they're still hoping."

Steve looked stricken. "I didn't have a choice, Bob. The gas was leaking and we were afraid the car was going to go up… He had a broken wrist…" His eyes were unfocused, staring at the blanket. "I don't know what I'm gonna tell Mike…" he whispered.

"You tell him the truth, that's what you tell him. You did nothing wrong, Steve, and he'll know that."

After several silent seconds, the young man nodded softly. "I couldn't get out of the way… the Chevelle…" He swallowed heavily. "It was in our lane… and he was coming so fast…" He looked up, his brow furrowed, and Evans knew what he was asking.

The L.A. detective shook his head. "He died instantly. If, ah… if it's any consolation, they found a half-empty bottle of vodka under the front seat…"

Steve closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Evans watched him silently, giving him space, letting him think. When the younger man finally raised his head, he smiled slightly. "Oh, ah, we called up to San Francisco, talked to a Captain Devitt…?" Steve nodded in confirmation. "Told him about what happened. They're, ah, they're just as shocked as we are… Anyway, he's sending some of your men down. They're gonna drive, he said, so they can take you guys back when you're ready… 'cause, you know, neither of you'll probably be able to fly for awhile so…" He shrugged with a soft smile. "So anyway, he said they probably should get here before midnight." He paused and chuckled slightly. "They seemed pretty worried about the two of you."

Steve smiled grimly, nodding. He seemed almost embarrassed. "Listen, uh, Lonsdale's parents –"

"Already on it," Evans cut him off smoothly. "We've got some of our people working on trying to find them, based on what you and Mike told us." When Steve's eyes narrowed, he laughed. "I know, I know, it's not our case, but because of, well…" He gestured at the bed. "… and what all four of us were all able to do these past few days… well, we kinda feel like it's our case too now." He paused, staring into the green eyes evenly. "Any objections?"

Biting his bottom lip, Steve stared at the older man silently for several long seconds then he dropped his head slightly. "Not from me, but it's not my case, it's Mike's. So that's his decision."

Evans smiled cheekily. "Well, he's in no condition to object right now, is he?"

Steve's head came up sharply, his eyes blazing. Then he smiled and shook his head, realizing what Evans was trying to do. "No, he's not, is he?" The smile faded. "Thanks, Bob."

The lieutenant nodded, the twinkle remaining in his eyes. "You're welcome…"

# # # # #

Slipping his badge back into his pocket, Garabaldi stepped away from the nurses station and approached the small ICU room hesitantly. He could hear the beeps from the heart monitor before he stepped through the door, relieved to hear the regular rhythm.

The bed was flat, the left siderail lowered. A small bed-high table, covered with a large white towel, abutted the centre of the left side of the bed. The San Francisco lieutenant lay frighteningly still, a light blue and cream flannelette blanket pulled up to his waist. His left arm was perpendicular to his body, resting on the small table. A large, deep purple bruise covered the entire left side of his chest from his lower ribs to his shoulder; a short clear plastic chest tube protruded from his left side between his ribs. A gauze bandage around his head anchored a dressing on his left temple; an oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth. Four electrode patches connected him to the heart monitor and there was an IV line in the back of his right hand.

Garabaldi stood beside the bed and sighed sadly. He laid a hand on Mike's leg and patted him gently. "It's, ah, it's Phil Garabaldi, Mike. Bob and I heard what happened…" He cleared his throat. "I just want you to know that Steve's okay… he just can't come to see you right now but I'm sure you'll see each other tomorrow…" He lifted his hand and took a step away, preparing to leave, then turned back.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Mike… there's a lotta people that are going to see to that, I promise you…"

With another sad sigh, he left the room.

# # # # #

"So listen, ah, is there anybody you want us to call… you know, your family… Mike's…?" Evans asked with a slight shrug.

Steve shook his head. "No, not for me, thanks. Mike has a daughter at university in Arizona but I really don't think he wants her to know about this… at least not now. She's just going into exams and, well, you know fathers…"

Evans chuckled. "Oh, boy, do I? I have two daughters of my own – one just graduated university – UCLA," he chuckled proudly, "and the youngest just started last fall."

Steve grinned. "Congratulations."

Evans proud fatherly smile turned into a full-blown grin and he tugged at his suit jacket in a seated strut. Then, just as suddenly, his smile disappeared. "Look, Steve, what happened this morning… you had no control over any of it. It just happened… for whatever reason… And don't waste any tears over that guy in the Chevelle. In my opinion, he got what he deserved. Just thank god he didn't take anybody else with him… like you or Mike…

"And Lonsdale? Well, yeah, he's on the run again, but there's a big difference between the first time and this time. The first time nobody was expecting it, and they didn't have the resources to contain things like we can now. And if he tries to leave the country now, it's gonna be a lot harder than it was the first time. There's gonna be a helluva lot more eyes looking for him…" He smiled confidently. "We're gonna get him."

Steve nodded. "I want to be there when we do… especially if Mike can't. I want to be there."

Evans stared at him and nodded once. "Don't worry, you will be." He let the silence settle between them. "Oh, ah, just so you know, one of the Park rangers gave us your gun. So don't worry, it's safe." He winked and heard the other man snort softly.

"Thanks," Steve acknowledged with a bob of his head.

The curtains parted and Garabaldi stepped into the cubicle. He met the two pairs of anxious eyes that spun in his direction with a smile. "You really can relax," he said to Steve with a soft chuckle. "Yes, I saw him, and I talked to the nurses, and they said he's doing great and he'll be moved to a private room sometime tomorrow morning."

"How did he look?" Steve still didn't sound convinced.

Garabaldi shrugged slightly. "Well, like a man who's been in a bad car accident," he started feebly but when both Steve and his partner shot him annoyed looks, he cleared his throat. "Okay, ah, he's got this massive bruise on the left side of his chest and they've got a chest tube in him and his head is bandaged, over the left temple." He gestured vaguely at this own head. "And he's hooked up to a heart machine and oxygen, and an I.V. like you are." He shrugged again.

Steve's eyes narrowed. "That's it?"

Garabaldi frowned. "What do you mean, 'that's it?' Yes, that's it!" He glanced at Evans and back again. "Why?"

Steve sighed in frustration then almost smiled. "That's what the doctor told me, but I just wanted to make sure he wasn't, you know, leaving something out… that's all…"

Both L.A. detectives smiled sympathetically. "No problem," Garabaldi chuckled, "glad I could be of help."

Laughing, Evans got to his feet. "Listen, ah, we better get outa here. We've got a fugitive to catch."

"You bet we do," Garabaldi concurred with a grin, pulling one of the curtains open. He looked back. "You get some sleep and we'll see you sometime tomorrow. Hopefully with some good news. How does that sound?"

Steve smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I could use some right about now."

"Tomorrow," Evans echoed, pointing a forefinger at him as the partners disappeared through the curtains.

Steve dropped his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Garabaldi's report on his partner was encouraging, but he knew he wouldn't be able to relax until he saw Mike for himself. He just wasn't sure he was up to it right at the moment.


	19. Chapter 19

He heard the beeps, voices and footsteps again before he opened his eyes but this time they weren't distorted or intermittent; this time they were distinctive but just a little quieter. He had been moved out of Emergency into a room and was now hearing the sounds through a closed wooden door. He took a deep breath; the pain is his chest was significantly easier to tolerate, which he hoped was a sign of better things to come. Exhaling loudly, he opened his eyes and froze.

Captain Roy Devitt was sitting with his legs crossed on a white plastic chair beside the bed, staring at him warmly. "Good morning," he said brightly.

Steve blinked a couple of times, frowning. "When did you get here?" he asked, finding his voice.

Devitt uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, smiling. "Bill and I got here last night, just after midnight. We drove straight through."

"And you came right here?"

"No," Devitt chuckled, understanding the younger man's confusion. "No, we checked into a motel near here that Lieutenant Evans recommended and got a few hours sleep first."

Steve's frown deepened. "What time is it?"

The captain glanced at his watch. "9:45. In the morning. The nurses told me they were going to let you sleep as long as you could."

Trying to sit up a little more, the younger man winced and fell back.

"Hey hey hey," Devitt said quickly, standing and putting a gentle, restraining hand on the inspector's right shoulder in an attempt to hold him down. "Don't try to get up, let me raise the bed a little more." He picked up the remote and pushed the button.

As he sat up a little straighter, Steve asked, "Have you seen Mike?"

Devitt put the remote back on the side table and sat down. "Yeah, we saw him this morning for a few minutes. You can relax, he's doing fine. The doctor told us they were taking the chest tube out just after we left then they were going to let him wake up, tape his broken ribs, immobilize his shoulder and move him to a private room. He should be out of here in a couple of days." He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Satisfied?"

After a couple of silent seconds, Steve nodded almost imperceptibly.

Devitt sat back and shook his head. "Wow, ah, you guys really dodged some bullets yesterday, didn't you? I got a chance to read the accident report from the Parks Service this morning. That was one hell of a crash."

Steve nodded, staring down at the blanket. He swallowed heavily before he looked up. "You heard about Jeffrey Lonsdale?"

Expressionless, Devitt leaned forward slowly, his forearms on his knees. "I knew nothing at all about the case till I read the report they found in Mike's car. It, ah, it was just slightly before my time," he said with an ironic smile, "so the whole thing was news to me. But from what I read in the file, and from what Evans and Garabaldi told me this morning, I think I have a good handle on most of it right now."

"But he's in the wind again, Roy. I let him get away yesterday –"

"Oh bullshit, Steve, you know that's not true. You didn't 'let him get away'. You did the only thing you could do, the only thing you should have done. You had to get out of what was left of that car, and you had to get both Mike and Lonsdale out as well. There was no choice about it so you're going to have to stop second-guessing yourself, you hear me?" He had been briefed by Evans about the young detective's guilt and he was prepared to nip any further self-recrimination in the bud. Mike wasn't available to do it at the moment, so it had to be him, he thought.

Steve stared into nothing for a few silent seconds then said quietly, "We still have to find him."

Relieved that the conversation seemed to be taking a turn for the better, Devitt snorted, "Don't worry, we will. We have the Parks Service still looking for him, we've got the State Police on the lookout as well and, if need be, we can get the FBI involved." Steve's head came up and he frowned. Devitt threw his hands up. "I know, I know, you want to keep it in the family, so to speak. So do I, okay? I'm just spit-balling a worst case scenario here, all right? It probably won't have to come to that."

Steve sighed. "I hope not."

Devitt smiled wistfully, staring at his colleague's downturned head, knowing full well what was going on beneath the deceptively passive surface. "Look, ah, let me go tell the nurses you're awake so they can get you some breakfast, and I'll go check on Mike again. Okay?"

After a couple of non-responsive seconds, Steve nodded.

# # # # #

With a soft groan, the blue eyes fluttered open, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, blinking in the bright fluorescent light. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry; he licked ineffectively at his lips.

He heard the scrap of metal on tile and suddenly a shadow loomed over him. "Here," a puzzlingly familiar voice said soothingly, and he refocused on a clear plastic glass with a straw in front of his face. Fingers guided the straw into his mouth and he took a long sip. As it disappeared from his sight, he heard a soft chuckle and the gentle clunk of the glass being put down. "How are you feeling?"

Recognizing the voice of his old friend and fellow officer, Mike blinked again several times then tried to answer. Nothing came out; he cleared his throat carefully and tried again. "Awful," he almost gasped, squeezing his eyes closed as he raised his right hand and weakly groped towards his left shoulder. "What happened…?"

Trying to mask a heavy sigh, the San Francisco captain sat cautiously on the edge of the bed. What he said in the next few minutes, he knew, would frame his colleague's state of mind for the foreseeable future.

"Well," he began gently, "you and Steve are both in a hospital in Pasadena. You were in a car accident on your way home yesterday -"

"Yesterday?" Mike interrupted, opening his eyes.

Devitt put his hand softly on Mike's upper chest to hold him down, in preparation for what he knew would be coming.

"Where's Steve?" Mike's eyes started to snap around the room and Devitt increased the pressure of his hand.

"He's okay, he's okay, he's okay," Devitt repeated quickly, staring into his friend's face until he saw the agitation begin to recede. "He has a couple of broken ribs and a cut on his forehead but he's okay. He's in another room on another floor right now but I promise you you'll be able to see him a little later… okay?"

Mike stared at the captain for several long beats, unblinking, before he finally nodded and let his head drop back onto the pillow, gasping in pain. Devitt kept his hand on his friend's chest until he knew the fight was out of him.

"And as for you," Devitt continued quietly, the blue eyes watching him intently, "you have four broken ribs on your left side, a hairline fracture of your left shoulderblade, and your left lung collapsed. You've had a chest tube between your ribs for the past 24 hours, so that's why you hurt so much. You also have a mild concussion from a whack to the head. But the doctors have all told me you're going to make a complete recovery, and you might even get to go home in a couple of days." Leaning back slightly, the silver-haired detective smiled with an almost sad encouragement.

"So, ah, so what happened…?" The short and simple question was laced with fear and trepidation.

Devitt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Do you remember anything at all?" he asked gently, not in the least surprised when Mike gingerly shook his head.

The captain nodded with a wistful smile. He had a lot of news to impart, almost all of it bad, and he wasn't sure how Mike was going to take it.

# # # # #

He was staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing, trying to come to grips with everything that he had been told during the past hour. It didn't seem real. He brought his right hand up again to rest against the tensor bandages across his chest and over his left shoulder. The pain was under control for the moment, for which he was very grateful, but he knew it would probably be several weeks until he was fit enough to go back to work again.

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to fight the waves of anger that kept washing over him.

Devitt had been direct and honest and, as far as Mike knew, had left nothing out. It had been a difficult task for the captain, he realized, telling him everything that he and his partner had been through in the past 24 hours.

They had been interrupted twice by visits from a doctor and a couple of nurses, making sure their patient was doing well and to bring him a breakfast of oatmeal that had congealed, untouched, on the overbed table.

When the captain had finally excused himself, trying to lighten the mood with some good-natured shots about the lieutenant's uncharacteristic beard, the bed's occupant was left staring at the ceiling. He hadn't moved for several long minutes.

It had been a lot to take in all at once.

# # # # #

Gritting his teeth, he pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped into the small room. He could feel his heart almost beating out of his chest as he quietly approached the bed, his right arm wrapped around his chest once more.

Mike seemed to be asleep; his eyes were closed and his breaths soft and regular. Under a light blue hospital gown, the wide tensor bandages covering his left shoulder and securing his arm against his chest were visible. White gauze encircled his forehead. Thankfully, he looked just as Garabaldi had described him, and to Steve that looked wonderful.

Allowing himself a quiet relieved sigh, he slid noiselessly into the chair near the head of the bed, ready to wait until his partner woke on his own. He was in no rush.

It didn't take long before Mike's head moved slightly and his eyes opened. He stared at the ceiling for a couple of long beats then turned to face his visitor. There was no expression in his eyes as they met the anxious green ones staring back at him. After a tense second he asked quietly, "So I hear you not only destroyed my car, but you let Lonsdale get away… with my gun…"


	20. Chapter 20

Steve's heart jumped into his throat and his mouth went dry. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears and he tried to swallow. As the familiar blue eyes bored into him, he could see everything he had worked for all his life, and everything he now held dear, evaporate in a puff of smoke. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Then, very slowly, the corners of Mike's lips began to curl and his knit brows softened. "I know I needed a new car," he began quietly, almost to himself, "but I was really hoping to trade the old one in…" His smile getting a little wider, he stared at the confused young man with raised, expectant eyebrows.

Frowning, Steve started to shake his head slowly. "What…?" The single word came out almost in a whisper.

The smile now genuine, and unquestionably filled with love, Mike said gently, "Roy told me about everything that's happened in the last 24 hours…" He paused briefly and grimaced with a facial shrug. "Well, as much as he knows, I guess… he was a little skimpy on the details…" His face crumpled briefly and his voice caught in his throat. "How are you doing?" he asked softly, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.

Pulling himself back together, his heart still pounding, Steve dropped his eyes briefly and shook his head. "Oh my god," he said quietly through a half-hearted chuckle, "for a second there…" He looked back up at his partner and shrugged almost helplessly.

Mike laughed softly. "Don't you know by now that there's nothing that could happen that I would blame you for…?" he asked quietly, continuing to stare, pride and love in his eyes. "Especially something you had no control over." He smiled warmly. _"Sudbina."_

Steve smiled and chuckled quietly. "Yeah, I know… fate."

Tilting his head, Mike winked. "And sometimes it's a bitch."

The younger man frowned comically. "I thought that was karma," he mused lightly.

Mike shrugged as best he could. "Same ballpark."

They both laughed quietly, sharing the magic of the moment. Then Mike's smile faded slightly. "You didn't answer my question. How are you doing?"

Steve stared at him and swallowed, trying to find his voice, almost overwhelmed with the love he felt for this man who had given his life such stability. "I'm, ah, I'm doing okay. The ribs are starting to heal, I think," he assured, unconsciously wrapping his right arm across his chest. "Everything aches… and I still have a headache but that's to be expected, I guess." He nodded towards the older man with his chin, his brow furrowed with worry. "How are you?"

Mike's right hand had made its way towards his shoulder again. He tried to chuckle, subduing a wince. "Not bad, I guess… I agree with you about the everything aches part, especially my neck…" He carefully moved his head from side to side. "But from what Roy told me, I guess we're both lucky to be, eventually, walking away from everything…"

Their eyes met and held, both of them silently acknowledging not only their good fortune but the bond they knew that nothing would ever tear apart.

It was Steve who addressed the elephant in the room. He leaned forward slightly, shifting uneasily. "Mike, ah…Lonsdale…"

"Don't worry about him," the older man answered firmly. "We got him once, we can get him again. We _will_ get him again… and you did nothing wrong…" He stared at his young partner without blinking for several long seconds. "You know that, right?"

Steve shrugged, looking away. "Yeah, I guess…"

"No guesses," Mike said firmly, still staring at the younger man. "You did the only thing you could do, so don't start second guessing yourself. Besides, I've been lying here thinking about what we can do… and I have an idea. But I've got to get back home first. I can't do it from here." He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head with a frustrated sigh.

Steve's eyebrows drew together but he didn't say a word.

Mike's smile was inscrutable. He closed his eyes and let his head sink back into the pillow, suddenly looking very tired. He heard a rustling and felt a hand on his leg and a gentle squeeze. He smiled.

"Did they say when you could get out?" Steve asked softly.

Keeping his eyes closed, Mike shook his head. "They probably want to keep me for a couple of days. What about you?"

There was a soft, almost sad snort. "Tomorrow morning. But I don't want to go home without –"

Mike's eyes snapped open and he raised his head slightly, wincing and catching his breath. "I want you to go home," he said quickly, then caught himself and slowed down. "Steve, I know Bob and Phil are using what resources they have down here to try to track down Lonsdale's parents, but I think we need to do it too. And that's something I think you can do from home… from your home… right?" He knew what the younger man was thinking. "I'm not giving this up, Steve." He glanced down at his bandaged left shoulder. "I'm not gonna let this stop me from bringing Brigitte Larson's killer to justice. Are you?"

Steve stared at his partner, unblinking, a lump forming in the back of his throat. He knew what Mike was doing, he knew Mike was tossing him a lifeline, a way of making up for what the young man perceived was his blunder the previous day.

"So… you'll go home?" Mike asked with a smile.

Chuckling, his partner nodded and smiled. "Yeah… yeah, I'll go home." He stared at the man in the bed.

# # # # #

A candy striper pushed the door open for him and he entered backwards, a small cardboard box with two paper coffee cups and two napkin-wrapped donuts in his right hand. The bed was still raised; Mike's head was back and his eyes were closed. He crossed quietly to the bed table and put the box down, trying not to make any noise. He picked up one of the coffee cups and set it on the table near the bed then, awkwardly with one hand, pried the lid off the second one and sat down.

He was halfway through his coffee and had finished his donut before Mike stirred then opened his eyes. He inhaled deeply and smiled. "That smells good," he said quietly then lifted his head slightly.

"It tastes good too," Steve chuckled, standing and putting his own cup on the table before handing Mike the other one.

The older man frowned, nodding towards the cardboard box. "Didn't it hurt, carrying all that?"

Steve chuckled softly. "Well, it's not too bad if I keep my upper arm plastered to my side… and grit my teeth…"

Chuckling, Mike nodded gratefully before he took a sip, moaned in pleasure, then let his head fall back onto the pillow. "Oh, I needed that," he sighed, smiling. He turned his head slightly and looked at his partner. "You okay?"

Steve bobbled his head. "Not bad, not great… you know…"

"Oh yeah… I think I'm almost due for another shot of that pain medication." He shrugged as best he could, trying not to wince, then took another sip of coffee. "Where's that donut?" he asked with a chuckle.

Standing, Steve took the coffee and replaced it with the napkin and pastry. Mike took a bite, raising his eyebrows in gratitude and pleasure as he chewed. Laughing, Steve sat back down.

"Good choice, thanks," Mike chuckled after he swallowed. His brow furrowed. "Ah, listen, ah, I was thinking while you were gone –"

"I thought I could smell something when I got back…" Steve said under his breath and Mike paused, shooting him a long-suffering glare. He cleared his throat and continued dryly.

"Anyway, I want to run something by you. You can tell me it's hare-brained but… well, just hear me out and tell me what you think, okay?"

Steve was looking at his partner with skeptical amusement and he made the older man wait several seconds before he nodded. "Okay, shoot."

"Good," Mike said with a grin, popping the last of the donut into his mouth and reaching for the coffee on the table. Keeping the cup in his hand, he laid his head back against the pillow again and grimaced, squeezing his eyes closed. The medication was definitely wearing off and he knew it was almost an hour until he would get another dose.

Steve was watching him closely. "You know you can ask for another shot, right?"

"I know," Mike said quietly, "but I don't want to get used to it, you know…" He took a couple of deep, slow breaths, exhaling through his mouth, then opened his eyes again. Steve was looking at him with a worried frown.

Mike smiled softly. "How are you feeling?"

Steve shrugged slightly. "I'm getting a little sore but I'm okay."

"No no," the other man insisted, "this can wait. You should go back to your room and lie down, get some rest…"

"Mike," Steve raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, "I'm okay right now, believe me. Besides, you think I could leave now without hearing your big idea?" He smiled mischievously and the older man's worried glare turned into a smirk.

"All right, smarty, you want to hear my 'big idea', do you?"

"Yes, I do."

With a chuckle, Mike took a sip of coffee, let Steve put the cup back on the table and dropped his right hand onto his stomach. "Okay, well, I was thinking about what you said Lonsdale told the bartender that first night you spotted him. He said he'd gone 'up north' to see his folks, right?"

Steve nodded. "Right, that's what he said."

"Well, it might be a longshot but… well, Lonsdale's house isn't too far from the bar, right? And he doesn't seem, as far as we know right now, to have a job that he has to drive anywhere to, right?" Mike started to sound hesitant and unsure.

"Right," Steve encouraged.

"Well, like I said it's a longshot but, well, they have Lonsdale's car, right? And I'm pretty sure the LAPD will tow it to a compound while all this is going on, right? So… well, what if he only uses that car to, I don't know, go back and forth to the bar, and maybe run a few errands around town, but mostly he has it for going 'up north' to visit his parents."

"Right," Steve repeated, drawing the word out a little, starting to recognize the direction Mike's hypothesis was going.

"Well, what if we have Evans and Garabaldi see if they can find out the last time Lonsdale had his car serviced… or the oil changed… I mean, they always take note of the mileage when they do something like that, right? And if we're lucky and he's had his oil changed, or something like that, in the past couple of weeks or so, then we can find out what the mileage was then and then –"

"We can compare it to what's on the car now and figure out approximately how many miles he drove when he went 'up north' to see his parents…" Steve finished for him with an almost triumphant smile.

Mike was nodding, mirroring the look.

"Sonuvabitch..." Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "And you thought of that just now, while I was out getting the coffee?"

With a closed-mouth smile, Mike nodded. "Well, I didn't think of it while I was sedated, if that's what you mean?" He laughed then grabbed his chest with a low moan, clenching his teeth and sinking back into the bed.

Steve sat forward, laying a hand on his partner's leg. "You okay?"

Mike nodded but didn't open his eyes. The smile had disappeared.

"Ah, listen," Steve said with more lightness in his voice than he felt as he got to his feet, "I'm gonna get out of here and let you rest. But, ah, wow…" Mike opened his eyes. "I'll see if I can call Bob and Phil and run your idea past them, see what they think." He stood over the bed, smiling warmly. "I'm glad you're okay," he said softly and, after a beat, Mike nodded slowly.

"Me too."

Steve turned and walked slowly to the door. As he opened it, trying not to wince from the effort, he looked back at the bed. "I'm gonna ask them if they've got Lonsdale's credit card too – they probably do already but I want to see if there are any gas charges for a trip 'up north' as well as any work done on his car recently. He's, ah, he's probably smart enough to pay for gas in cash, but he probably puts repairs and that kinda stuff on his card." He shrugged with a smirk. "They may have done it already, but you never know, right?"

Mike smiled back. "You never know…" He winked.

Chuckling, Steve nodded with a smile as the door closed behind him. Mike looked up at the ceiling; he was in a lot of pain but he didn't care at the moment. He had done what he needed to do – restore the confidence of the young man who meant so much to him – and nothing could bring him down right now.


	21. Chapter 21

He was staring at the ceiling in the dark. Sleep was proving elusive. He had turned down the offer of a sleeping pill, and was now debating whether his decision had been somewhat premature.

His chest was aching more than he had anticipated. He seemed to have gotten a handle on the discomfort earlier in the day, but his desire to prove to his partner that he was healing faster than he actually was may have been a huge miscalculation.

He had used the services of an orderly and wheelchair to get to Mike's room on the floor above, but insisted on walking into the room under his own steam so as not to disturb and unnecessarily alarm his injured partner. And he had managed, without too much effort, to engage a candy striper to wheel him down to the cafeteria and back to get their coffees and donuts.

But the mere act of carrying the cardboard box into the room, though he was able to successfully mask the pain, had put a strain on his broken ribs and torn muscles. And he was paying for it now.

In the dark, he smiled grimly to himself; it had been worth it. The guilt that he had brought into the small hospital room with him, which had been ratcheted up by Mike's heart-stopping opening salvo, had dissipated completely by the time he had returned to his own room a couple of hours later. His partner was the only person in his life right now who could do that for him, and it was a reality that both comforted and frightened him.

He was going to be released in the morning, and Bill Tanner was going to drive him back to San Francisco. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave his partner behind, even though he knew that Mike was going to be released in a couple of days.

But as the older man had told him, they had things to do back home, things that hopefully would lead to the quick recapture of Jeffrey Lonsdale. That was going to be their focus for the foreseeable future, and he wasn't about to let his partner down.

He closed his eyes, trying to will his body to rest and his churning thoughts to subside. But it would take another long hour before he was successful.

# # # # #

He woke with a start, his eyes snapping open in the dark room, gasping in pain. He raised his right hand quickly to grab at the hospital gown over the left side of his ribcage, holding his breath until the agony began to subside.

He was breathing heavily through his open mouth, his aching chest heaving uncontrollably as he tried to stop his pounding heart. Snippets of the nightmare that had woken him began to coalesce in his racing mind as he gasped for air, the blood thudding in his ears.

A red car… Through the small section of the windshield between the side of his partner's head and the pillar he could see it, coming at them incredibly fast… He was thrown violently against the door as it buckled… Pain shot through his chest… Another heavy hit and the car spun in the other direction… The terrifying sensation of falling uncontrollably… His head slammed into the ceiling… Then nothing…

His breaths were getting longer and deeper, the pain gradually starting to recede. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. He closed his eyes, trying by sheer force of will to slow his still pounding heart. He could feel the moisture building behind his eyelids as the enormity of what they had been through washed over him again.

Devitt's words rang in his ears once more. "If Steve hadn't reacted so fast…" The captain had paused and swallowed, the realization of how close he had come to losing two beloved colleagues and friends briefly overwhelming him.

Tears began to slide down Mike's temples and he softly gasped for breath. It would be hours before he fell into an exhausted sleep.

# # # # #

The heavy wooden door opened and a grinning Bill Tanner led Steve and Devitt into the small hospital room. From the half-raised bed, Mike opened his eyes and smiled; his partner was wearing fresh clean clothes. And though he was moving slower than usual and still had an uncomfortably large white bandage on his forehead, Steve looked more like his usual self.

Tanner stood near the door as the others approached the bed.

"I see they sprung you," Mike chuckled and the younger man nodded, smiling self-consciously as he looked down at himself.

"Yeah, I've got a laundry list of the things I can and can't do for the next couple of weeks, but they're kicking me out." His smile was almost melancholic; he knew the older man wouldn't be released for a couple of days yet.

Mike's eyes flicked to the door. "Bill driving you home?" Both Tanner and Steve nodded. "Didn't you two come down in the same car?" he asked, frowning slightly, as his eyes snapped back and forth between the captain and the black inspector. Tanner nodded again. Mike stared at Devitt, his frown deepening.

The grey-haired captain took a step closer to the bed with a Cheshire cat smile. "Don't worry, you and I'll be driving home ourselves in a few days," he said enigmatically.

After a confused beat, Mike opened his mouth to ask "In what?" but Devitt cut him off smoothly. "So, ah, Steve and I talked to Evans and Garabaldi this morning about that… postulation of yours…"

Mike and Steve exchanged amused looks; Mike mouthed '_Postulation?"_ and Steve shrugged.

Devitt chose to ignore the silent interruption and continued, "…and they're gonna look into it and let you and I," he gestured in Mike's direction, "know what they find out. They were quite impressed, by the way…" He shrugged nonchalantly, trying to feign indifference. "But I just told them it was the stuff we expected from you anyway, so…" He shrugged again, totally deadpan. Mike was staring at him with a confused and very comical frown.

It was Steve and Tanner who began to laugh first, Steve with a groan as he wrapped his right arm around his injured ribs. As he continued to stare at the man in the bed, Devitt's grin was slow to build and he reached out to pat Mike's leg affectionately.

Very slowly, and with no expression, Mike turned to look at his still laughing partner. "And you're going to leave me here alone with him for the next few days?" he asked with a straight face.

Still chuckling, his arm still wrapped around his ribs, Steve nodded. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"No, I guess you don't," Mike acquiesced, allowing a cheeky smile to appear.

Chuckling, Tanner pushed away from the door and crossed closer to the bed. "I hate to be the wet blanket here but Steve and I have to hit the road if we're gonna get home at a decent hour." He looked at Steve. "You ready?"

The young inspector nodded, looking at his partner. Devitt glanced quickly from Steve to Mike then turned to Tanner, grabbing his elbow. "Ah, let's make sure that orderly's still out there with the wheelchair," he said quietly as he led Tanner towards the door. He looked back at the bed as he opened the door. "I'll be back after they're gone," he nodded at Mike as he pushed Tanner ahead of him into the corridor and shut the door.

Steve cleared his throat and met his partner's eyes. He smiled. "Well, ah, I better get going…"

"Yeah," Mike almost whispered, nodding. "Uh, you take of yourself, okay? And do what the doctors tell you to do, you hear me?"

Steve was nodding, meeting the serious stare evenly. "Yeah, I will," he answered softly. "And I'll, ah, I'll see what I can do about, you know, finding Lonsdale's parents…"

"Just… well, just make sure you don't… compromise your health, okay?" Mike tried to smile and his voice caught in his throat.

Steve reached out and patted the older man's leg lightly, smiling. "Don't worry, I won't…"

"Good." Taking a deep breath, Mike glanced at the door and Steve looked over his shoulder.

"Ah, yeah, I gotta go." He took a couple of steps away from the bed. "I'll, ah, I'll see you in a couple of days… at home, right?"

"Right," Mike grinned, watching with a soft smile as the younger man crossed to the door and started to pull it open.

"Here, I got that," he heard Tanner's voice as the door opened wider and Steve, with one last glance over his shoulder, disappeared.

Mike let his head drop back on the pillow, surprised by the emotions that he was suddenly having trouble controlling. _For god's sake,_ he thought, _Steve's only going_ _home… It's not like he's leaving the department,_ he chastised himself. But he still couldn't stop the uneasy melancholia that washed over him.

# # # # #

He was still staring at the ceiling when Devitt pushed the door open and crossed to the bed. There were a few seconds of concerned silence before the grey-haired captain asked, "Are you okay?"

Mike turned his head and refocused. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," he lied, knowing he wasn't fooling either of them.

"Okay," Devitt said lightly, going along with the charade. "You, ah, you okay to talk for a bit?"

Mike frowned. "Yeah, sure, of course…"

"Good." The captain reached into his back pocket and took out a white envelope. "You up to looking at a few photographs?"

"Photographs of what?"

"The accident scene."

Mike stared at Devitt silently for a couple of seconds then blinked. "Sure…"

Slipping a small stack of 5x7 colour prints out of the envelope, Devitt held the first one out and Mike took it with his right hand. It was a wide-angle shot of the road and the crumpled Chevelle, black skid marks visible on the asphalt. _'The red car…'_ Mike thought. He nodded and Devitt put the second photo in his hand.

This one was a wide shot of the ditch, the familiar blue sedan, dented and dirty, all of the windows shattered and gone, lying on its side. A rumpled grey blanket and discarded medical waste were lying in the dirt several yards from the back bumper.

Devitt watched closely as Mike studied the photo silently; the older man bit his lip and swallowed heavily, his eyes never leaving the photo. Eventually he took a deep breath and nodded; Devitt took the print and gave him the next one.

They worked their way slowly through the small stack; the rest of the photos were close-ups of the scene. When he had finished studying the last one, Mike handed it back silently then met his colleague's eyes evenly. After a couple of long silent seconds, he said quietly, "I still can't believe we all walked away from that…"

Devitt smiled grimly as he put the prints back into the envelope. "Neither can anybody else. Like I said before, thank god Steve has such good reflexes or he would definitely be going home in a body bag, and you too probably…"

"Yeah…" Mike agreed quietly, staring at the bed.

# # # # #

Tanner glanced across the front seat. Behind his dark glasses, Steve was staring out the side window, his hair blowing around by the wind. He hadn't said a word since they had turned onto the I-5 and headed north.

As if he could feel the dark brown eyes on the back of his head, Steve turned, smiling self-consciously when he caught Tanner's glance.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," the white cop nodded, "thank god the road's smooth."

Tanner laughed. "And thank god they got the fire out so we can go home this way. It's a lot faster."

Steve knew that wasn't the only reason, and he was grateful for the concern.

Tanner glanced across the seat again. "Don't worry, Devitt'll bring Mike home soon," he said warmly, as if reading his colleague's mind.

Nodding, Steve smiled then frowned. "But… how?" he asked slowly.

"What?"

"How is Devitt going to bring Mike home?" Steve elaborated, staring at his friend's profile.

Keeping his eyes on the road, Tanner grinned. "Oh, don't you worry about that… it's all been arranged."

Confused but not about to press the issue at the moment, Steve looked out the side window again, and smiled to himself.


	22. Chapter 22

His eyes snapped open, squinting in the bright fluorescent light, wondering what had roused him. He blinked a couple of times and was just clearing his throat when he heard it again, a soft, almost apologetic knock.

"Come in," he called as loudly as he could.

The door opened slowly and a smiling Devitt stepped into the room. "Sorry, I know you were sleeping but I thought you'd want to hear the news."

Frowning, Mike tried to sit up a little straighter against the pillows of the raised bed. "What news?"

The captain pulled one of the white plastic chairs closer to the bed and sat. "I just got a call from Bob Evans… about that idea you had? And yes, they have Lonsdale's car in one of their impound lots and they got the mileage from the odometer. And they got his wallet from the search of his house and they've been in touch with the credit card company already – seems he only has one card that they could find – and they have people going through his house to see if they can find any records or receipts or whatever on his car, for repairs or maintenance and stuff like that."

Mike was staring at him expressionlessly, barely blinking.

"The credit card company said they should be able to supply us with any charges for the past month by tomorrow but the older ones are going to take a little longer."

Mike finally nodded. "Tomorrow's good…"

"Yeah, that's what I said." Devitt paused and smiled. "And, ah, I talked to Rudy, brought him up to speed on everything, and he's agreed to assign Bill to work with Steve and help him do whatever he's going to do back home, as long as Steve doesn't leave his apartment and compromise his recovery."

Exhaling loudly, Mike chuckled through a smile. "Thank you, and don't worry, I'll make sure of that."

"Good," the captain laughed quietly then he sobered. "Well, that's the good news. You ready for the bad."

After a beat, and frowning, Mike nodded.

"The Parks Service has called off the search for Jeffrey Lonsdale. It's been two days and there hasn't been a sign of him… nothing… It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth… literally…" He sighed with a slight shake of his head. "Sorry, Mike…"

The blue eyes had drifted away and they now snapped back to his colleague's face. "It's not your fault, Roy," he smiled sadly, "it's nobody's fault, really… except maybe that stupid drunk bastard in the Chevelle…" He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes, trying to control the anger and frustration. When he finally opened them again, he stared at his old friend with a small wistful smile. "I'm disappointed, of course, but not surprised… He had a pretty good head start, from what I gather, and his only injury seems to have been the broken wrist so he could cover ground pretty good, I guess…"

"Yeah," Devitt agreed quietly, "and he's had almost 25 years living on the run, so to speak… he knows how to keep a low profile…"

"Yeah," Mike almost swallowed the word, once more staring into space. He exhaled loudly.

"Ah, anyway," Devitt said a little louder than necessary, trying to break the mood, "there's a BOLO out, of course. And all the doctors and hospitals and clinics just outside the Angeles Park area and all the way upstate to the Oregon border have, or are going to get, an APB for a middle-aged white man with a broken left wrist… but so far that's been a bust too. But it's going to take time to notify them all."

The lieutenant was still staring down at the blanket covering his legs but Devitt knew he was listening intently. Eventually he started to nod slightly and he looked up. "Well, I guess everything's being done that can be right now, hunh?"

Devitt nodded as enthusiastically as he could. "Yeah… yeah… for now… These things take time, you know that…"

"I know," Mike admitted reluctantly, "I know… but it doesn't make it any easier…" He looked up at Devitt. "I gotta get out of here, Roy. I gotta get home, there's things I can do there I can't do here."

Trying to ward off the argument he knew was coming, Devitt raised both hands placatingly. "I know you do but first you have to do what your doctors say. You're not ready –"

"Bull!" Mike almost shouted, reaching for the blanket with his right hand and starting to pull it off. "Where's the doctor? I want to talk to him."

Devitt grabbed his colleague's forearm and held him firmly. "Mike, stop it!" He glared into the now defiant blue eyes until he felt the tense muscles under his hand begin to relax and Mike sank back against the bed, breathing angrily through his nose, his jaw clenched. After a couple of long seconds, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

Allowing the calm to settle, Devitt lifted his hand and quietly released a held breath. "Listen, ah," he began easily, "I'll go find your doctor and talk to him, okay? But I can't make any promises. They don't want you walking out of here before they're sure your lung's not going to collapse again, you know that, right?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Mike reluctantly nodded.

"Okay, well, you just lie there and relax and, ah… I'll be back…" Devitt patted his arm and quietly crossed to the door. As he stepped out into the corridor he glanced back; Mike, looking spent and defeated, was staring at the ceiling.

# # # # #

He had found just the right way to stand and move that put the least amount of strain on his healing ribs. Sitting in the LTD all day hadn't helped, and he was very stiff and sore when he finally crawled out onto Union Street just before 9. Tanner had carried his flight bag into the apartment; the small carry-on had survived the accident in the trunk and was just a little worse for wear.

Making sure his injured colleague was going to be fine on his own, and with the promise to be in touch first thing in the morning, Tanner had left. Steve had made himself a coffee and was just walking into the living room with the cup in his hand when the phone rang.

Frowning, he carefully put the full cup on the coffee table before picking up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hey, you guys made pretty good time!" came the familiar voice over the line.

"Ah, yeah," Steve answered, frowning in surprise, "we did. How did you know I was -?"

Mike's laugh cut him off. "I've called twice already. Third time lucky, I guess. How was the drive?"

"Uneventful, thankfully." They both laughed softly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Well, I'm a little stiff and sore, but I think that's to be expected. I'm gonna take it easy tonight."

"That's a good idea."

"Hey, ah, are you at the pay phone in the corridor?" Steve asked, concerned for his partner's welfare.

"No no no," Mike assured quickly. "I rented a phone, it's in my room. I wanted to talk to you tonight and I knew they wouldn't let me out of bed so… It's exorbitantly expensive," he chuckled, "but it's worth it." He cleared his throat self-consciously.

Steve smiled to himself.

"So, anyway, I wanted to bring you to up to speed on stuff that's been happening down here." For the next few minutes Mike relayed to his partner everything that had happened regarding the search for Jeffrey Lonsdale during the day, all of it frustrating.

"So, listen, ah," Mike continued quietly, "I want you to take it easy tomorrow, just get some rest and take care of yourself and, ah, we'll start working on the Lonsdale stuff the day after… how does that sound?"

Steve let a long beat of silence float over the line. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"Well, ah," Mike began with a chuckle, and Steve could hear the grin behind the words, "I managed to talk the doctors into letting me go home tomorrow."

"What?"

"Ah, yeah, well, ah, I sort of promised I'd take it real easy and not leave my house and go see my doctor right away… and all that kinda stuff," he said slowly, then sped up, "And I will do that, I promise you too, but…" He sighed loudly. "Well, I'm going stir crazy and I just –"

"I know, I know," Steve interrupted with a chuckle. "That's, ah, that's good news, it really is. But are you sure you're up to it?"

"Yeah, yeah, for sure. I'm gonna try to get to sleep right after we hang up, and Roy and I'll hit the road as soon as they let me outa here."

"Okay, good. But, ah, do you know how you're getting home yet? I mean, in what? There's no car, right?"

"Yeah, I know. Roy's been very evasive about it all. But he keeps telling me not to worry so…" Steve could picture the shrug in his mind's eye and he chuckled. "Anyway," Mike continued, "I'll let you go and I'll call when I get home tomorrow – if we leave early enough it should be around dinnertime, I hope."

"Okay, well, ah, take it easy okay. Have a safe trip, however you get here, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"You got it. Good night."

"Good night." He hung up and, picking up the coffee cup, sat back and smiled. He wasn't surprised Mike had managed to talk his way out of the hospital a day early. Now he only hoped it wasn't going to backfire.

# # # # #

Devitt opened the wooden door and held it. "You ready to go?"

Mike, dressed in his jeans and sneakers, his immobilized left arm hidden by an uncharacteristically colourful short-sleeved shirt, smiled at him from under the 49ers ball cap. He picked up a large paper bag that had become the repository for his few personal possessions.

"Here, I'll get that," the captain said, stepping away from the door and taking the bag from his colleague's hand. He opened the door again, revealing an orderly standing behind a wheelchair.

With a frustrated sigh, Mike carefully lowered himself into the chair. Devitt fell into step beside him as they headed to the elevators.

Chuckling, Devitt gestured at his friend's face. "I thought you were going to shave that off?"

Mike looked up, rubbing his right hand over his beard. "I was. But I'm gonna keep it until we have Jeffrey Lonsdale in custody again." He looked up and smiled grimly. "It's a… reminder, I guess, that this isn't over and it won't be over till we catch him again… Besides, I'm gonna be working from home, right, so nobody's gonna see it… except me…"

Devitt smiled and nodded. "Works for me," he agreed as he reached out to push the elevator button.

# # # # #

The orderly pushed the wheelchair through the glass front doors and out into the bright southern California sunshine, Devitt right behind him. The wheelchair came to a stop and the orderly leaned forward to apply the brake.

Mike glanced around the small circular entrance, looking for one of the SFPD's LTD's or Galaxie's. But there were none.

With the orderly's assistance, Mike got slowly to his feet, trying not to wince. He shook the orderly's hand and thanked him for the ride, then turned to see Devitt looking at him with a Cheshire cat smile.

"So, ah, where's our ride?" Mike asked, frowning in confusion.

Devitt turned slightly and gestured with his free hand at a hunter green Monte Carlo parked at the curb several yards away.

Mike looked at the sleek Chevrolet sedan then back to his colleague. "Whose car is that?"

Devitt's smile turned into a grin. "Yours."


	23. Chapter 23

"What?' Mike looked at Devitt, his mouth slightly open, and shook his head vaguely as if he hadn't heard correctly.

"It's yours," came a familiar voice from behind him, and Mike turned sharply to see Evans and Garabaldi, both of them grinning, step away from the shadow of the building front and saunter towards the San Francisco pair. Evans was holding out a set of car keys.

Mike's eyes flicked to the keys then he glanced at Garabaldi and Devitt before settling back on Evans. "What are you talking about?" he asked softly.

"Well," Garabaldi started slowly, rocking on his heels, his hands in his pants pockets, "after… the accident… well, word got around that it was your personal car that you and Steve were driving and, ah, well, it sorta didn't seem fair to everybody that you lost your car… I mean, we're all cops, and we all know that if you use a personal car for police business and something happens to it… well, you're just shit outa luck as far as your insurance company is concerned… right?"

Mike was nodding slowly; this thought had occurred to him already but he wanted to keep his worry to himself until he had the chance to actually talk to his insurance rep.

"So," Evans took up the narrative, "well, Phil here thought he'd just… float a balloon, so to speak, and see if there was any interest in the department to start a fund that might be able to, well, help towards getting you another car, even a temporary one." He looked at his partner and smiled. "Well, turns out there was more than just a little interest… the brotherhood, you know… And it just so happened that the brother-in-law of one of our Robbery lieutenants owns a used car lot. So we told him what we were looking for and he said he had nothing appropriate on his lot at the moment but he started calling around and, ah…" He gestured towards the Monte Carlo. "He found this…"

As Evans had talked, Mike felt his heart begin to pound and a lump form at the back of his throat. He brought his right hand up to his mouth to tug at his lower lip, staring at the L.A. detective almost without blinking.

Garabaldi was looking at the car. He laughed suddenly, as if reading the San Francisco cop's mind. "I know it looks like Lonsdale's, but it's not. Weird coincidence, right? His is a '72 and he's put over 60 thousand on it already – this is a '71 and it only has 15 thousand." He chuckled. "It wasn't literally owned by _The Little Old Lady From Pasadena_ but damn close. Her husband, actually, and he only drove it around Pasadena." He laughed, looking from Mike to Devitt and back. "I kid you not, it really is from Pasadena. He, ah, he passed away about three months ago and as she doesn't drive, she just wanted to get rid of it."

Mike still hadn't moved. With a soft chuckle, Evans started towards the car, "Come on, have a closer look. It's in immaculate shape."

As if in a trance, Mike followed slowly in his wake, Garabaldi and Devitt behind him, both grinning and chuckling. Evans opened the passenger side front door. Mike stood on the sidewalk, still shaking his head slightly, and looked in. "How in the world…?"

Evans took Mike's right hand and turned it palm up, dropping the keys into it. "It's yours, believe me."

Mike looked at him, the confusion evident on his face. "How…?"

"Well, it wasn't easy," Garabaldi laughed, stepping closer. "Especially when we got that call from Roy yesterday afternoon telling us you were going home this morning. We thought we'd have another day!"

"Yeah, but the LAPD can work pretty fast when it has to," Evans added. "So we pulled some strings in other departments and we got the ownership transferred – to you. We got new plates, in your name. And we even got in touch with your insurance company – we found the paperwork in your glove box – and had your insurance transferred to this one." He grinned "So – you're ready to go."

Mike was standing stockstill, staring at the sleek sedan in front of him. He took a deep, unsteady breath, ignoring the pain in his chest. He started to blink quickly, trying to pull himself together, as he exhaled softly. Slowly he turned to look at the two L.A. detectives. "I, ah, I don't know what to say…"

His smile disappearing, Evans put a hand on Mike's arm. "Just find and arrest Jeffrey Lonsdale… that's all you have to do, Mike… Believe me…"

"He's right, Mike," Garabaldi added gently, taking a step closer. "You've got the entire LAPD behind you and Steve right now, and all the thanks that anyone wants is to hear that you've arrested Lonsdale and he's finally going to pay for what he did all those years ago."

Mike stared at them silently, then he swallowed heavily and nodded.

Smiling warmly, Garabaldi reached out and took the keys from the San Francisco detective's hand. He crossed around to the trunk and inserted the key. "Oh, ah, have a look," he instructed as he opened the lid.

Mike took a few steps to his right and looked in. There was a large cardboard box in the middle of the spacious trunk with his suitcase beside it; Devitt's leather bag was tucked against the back wall. "We got all the stuff we could salvage out of your car – the trunk and glove box, and even under the seats. The paperwork for this car is in the glove box." He shut the lid and handed the keys back to a still shell-shocked Mike.

Devitt sidled up to his colleague and gently took the keys out of his hand. He smiled. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to wait to give it a test drive," he winked. "Bob, Phil, I gotta get this guy home before it gets too late." He held out his hand and shook theirs. "Thanks a lot, fellas, and you'll call Steve this afternoon with that credit card information if you get it? You've got his number, right?"

"You bet," Garabaldi confirmed.

Smiling, Devitt stepped off the curb and circled the Monte Carlo to the driver's side, putting the paper bag in the back seat then getting behind the wheel.

Mike looked at Evans and Garabaldi almost expressionlessly, still at a loss for words. Evans grinned. "You heard the man, you better hit the road." He reached out and, almost sluggishly, Mike raised his right hand and they shook.

Chuckling, Garabaldi stepped forward and shook Mike's hand as well.

"Fellas, I, ah…" Mike began quietly.

"Ah ah ah," Evans interrupted him, raising an admonishing forefinger. "Remember what I said, the only thanks we need is Lonsdale's arrest. All right?"

Finally smiling, Mike nodded. He turned slowly and stepped back to the door, trying not to wince as he gingerly got into the front seat. Evans closed the door for him as Devitt started the engine. It roared to life then started to almost purr.

Mike looked up at the two L.A. detectives through the window and nodded with a small faraway smile. As the car pulled smoothly away from the curb, Evans and Garabaldi could see him reach out and run his hand over the burnished wood of the dashboard. They grinned.

# # # # #

Devitt glanced across the front seat. They were on the 5 and heading north through the Tejon Pass and Mike had yet to say a word. He was still in shock.

The captain chuckled, patting the steering wheel. "This has a lot of power. And it handles really well."

Mike slowly looked over; his brow was slightly furrowed. "I can't believe they did this…" he said softly, finally finding his voice.

Devitt grinned. "It's pretty special, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

The frown getting deeper, Mike cocked his head slightly. "Did you know about this?"

With a noncommittal shake of his head, the gray-haired cop chuckled. "I had a feeling there was something in the works but I really didn't know about it till yesterday." He raised his right hand briefly. "Honest to god."

Mike looked at the shiny dark wood on the dashboard again then let his eyes roam over the almost pristine interior. "It's in great shape… it must've cost them a small fortune…"

"I think they got a good deal," Devitt supplied, trying to assuage some of the guilt he knew his colleague was feeling. "And actually, Phil told me this morning that most people just put in about 20 bucks each, but they have such a huge department that it didn't take long to get what they needed."

Mike snorted softly, still slumped slightly in the seat and looking overwhelmed. "I'll never be able to repay them…"

Devitt smiled warmly, glancing across the front seat again. "You don't have to repay them, remember… just arrest Jeffrey Lonsdale… that's all the thanks they want…"

Mike sighed heavily. "Yeah…" he almost whispered, knowing they still had a Herculean task ahead of them.

# # # # #

"Hello?"

"_Steve, hi. It's Phil Garabaldi. How are you doing?"_

"Phil! Hi. Ah, great, I'm feeling pretty good, thanks."

"_Good to hear. Look, I just wanted to let you know that Mike and Roy are on their way home, and I have some news for you."_

"Great, thanks. What have you got?"

"_Well, we finally heard from MasterCard and they have a list of Lonsdale's charges over the past month that they just faxed over. We've had a look at it and there's no charges for any gas stations outside of the L.A. area on it, and no garages either as far as we can see. Anyway, I'll fax it up to you this afternoon. Is that okay?"_

"Yeah, yeah, for sure. Give me a second and I'll find the fax number for the office."

"_What?"_ He heard Garabaldi laugh. _"You don't have it memorized?"_

Chuckling, and trying not to wince with the discomfort, Steve stuck the receiver under his ear against his left shoulder as he reached under the small end table with his right hand to locate his address book. "I've got a lot of things in my brain but that's not one of them…" He grabbed the book and flipped it open. "Okay, here it is." He read out the number.

"_Thanks. Look, ah, as soon as we get the rest of the info from them I'll give you a call, okay? You're going to be working from home, right?"_

Steve chuckled again. "I don't have much of a choice, do I? Mike'll have my head if I don't. But Bill is my contact at the office and he'll get the faxes and bring them over."

"_Good for him. Okay, I'll let you go."_ He paused for a moment, and to Steve it felt like he was debating whether or not to say something else. _"Ah, okay, well, tell Mike and Roy we say hi again, and I'll talk to you when we get something else…"_

"Okay, ah, yeah, thanks a lot, Phil. Talk to you later." Slowly placing the receiver back on the cradle, Steve frowned. Something was going on he had no idea about, and that bothered him.

# # # # #

Devitt opened the door, pocketing the key then picking up Mike's suitcase and stepping over the threshold. He looked over his shoulder. Mike was slowly making his way up the steep concrete staircase, his head down and his right hand on the railing.

"You okay?"

Mike stopped, raising his head and nodding. "Yeah…" he breathed through a soft gasp, trying not to show how much pain he was actually in.

With a concerned and frustrated sigh, Devitt backed into the house and put the suitcase down. He knew Mike had tempted fate by insisting he be released from the hospital before his doctors were satisfied he had recovered enough, but there was no stopping him when he set his mind to something. Now he just hoped that it wasn't a mistake.

Mike finally reached the landing and, with an exhausted smile, walked slowly past his colleague and into his living room. Devitt closed the door then turned to face him quickly, determined to take charge.

"All right, this is what you're going to do. I want you to go to your bedroom right now – no arguments – and lie down. If you're hungry, I'll go out and get us something to eat, but you're lying down and you're lying down now. Do you understand me?"

He was glaring uncompromisingly at his injured colleague, and Mike was staring back expressionlessly. Finally he nodded. "Okay…" he said softly.

Devitt frowned; Mike was giving in a lot easier than he had expected and that was unsettling.

Mike turned to the staircase and put his hand on the railing. He started up gradually. As Devitt watched the slow progress, he made up his mind. When Mike was safely in his bedroom, he was going to go down to the car and get his bag. He was spending the night, whether Mike wanted him to or not.


	24. Chapter 24

"Hello?"

"Steve? Yeah, it's Roy. Just wanted to let you know Mike and I are home."

"Why isn't Mike calling me?" Steve asked, a wave of worry suddenly rushing over him. He put the glass of Coke on the coffee table as he sat on the couch, trying not to grimace with the effort. "Is he okay?"

"Sure, sure," Devitt assured quickly, "he's sore and tired. I made him go to bed as soon as we got in and he's sleeping. But he's okay, believe me." He paused for a beat. "But just so you don't have to worry, I'm gonna spend the night with him, okay?"

Steve exhaled loudly. "Yeah… okay," he replied almost absent-mindedly. "You sure he's all right?"

"I'm sure. Listen, ah, did you hear from Bob or Phil today?"

"Yeah, ah, Phil called this afternoon." He filled the captain in on what Garabaldi had told him.

"Okay, good. I'll let Mike know when he wakes up." There was a pause over the line. "Ah, I think I hear Mike getting up. I'm gonna make him some soup. I found a can in his cupboard," Devitt chuckled. "Thank god, 'cause I can't cook. Listen, I'll have him call you tomorrow morning, okay? Not tonight. I want him to forget all about Jeffrey Lonsdale tonight."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"Yeah… Hey, ah, how are you feeling?"

"Slow but sure. Still hurts like hell but a little better every day."

"Yeah, that's the way it works, isn't it? I'll talk to you tomorrow. Have a good night."

"You too. Tell Mike I'm glad he's home."

"I will. Good night."

"Good night." Steve dropped the receiver onto the cradle and sat back. _Damn,_ he muttered to himself; he forgot to ask Devitt exactly how they had gotten home.

# # # # #

Mike closed the door and engaged the lock then stood stockstill for a few long seconds, breathing slowly. His ribs were aching a lot more this morning, a development he had successfully kept to himself.

But now that Devitt was finally heading home, he could allow his discomfort to show. Gritting his teeth, he made his way back up to the bedroom and got the small bottle of pain pills out of the paper bag he'd brought back from the hospital. He took the bottle down to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.

He returned to the living room and sat on the sofa, pulling the phone closer, and dialed a very familiar number. "Yeah, Bill, it's Mike… Yeah… No, I'm feeling pretty good… Yeah, Roy talked to him last night… Actually, there is. It's gonna take a bit of digging but, ah, how friendly are you with the guys and gals down in Records?..." He chuckled. "Good to hear, 'cause I need a favor from them too… Yeah, you can use my name… Okay, here's what I need. It's four files, one from 1952, one from '54, and then two from the '60's…. The two from the '60's will have my name attached to them, the two earlier ones won't… Got your pad ready?... Good, here's the names…"

# # # # #

There was a light rap on the front door. Frowning, Mike got up from the easy chair, clenching his teeth against the pain, and shuffled towards the door. He looked through the peephole and sighed loudly, dropping his head in frustration as he opened the door. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked his smiling partner, who was standing on the stoop with an overnight bag in his right hand.

"Well," Steve began lightly as he pushed past the bigger man into the house, "I know Roy went home awhile ago and I figured, well, you're not allowed to leave your house…" He stopped and spun back with a glare. "Your promise, right?" He didn't wait for a reply and continued further into the room. "And if we're going to work on this together, then we have to be… oh, I don't know, _together,_ don't you think?"

"So you're moving in," Mike stated simply, closing the door but remaining at the entrance.

Steve had stopped at the couch and dropped his bag to the floor beside it. "Well, what else would you suggest? You _could_ move into my place… There are fewer stairs, that's true, but only one bedroom. You said Jeannie's not home for a couple of weeks… so hopefully we'll have this wrapped up by then and I'll be out of your hair… or your beard..." He beamed at his partner with a goofy close-mouthed smile.

"Don't do that, you look maniacal," Mike muttered under his breath as he walked away from the door. He glared at the younger man again. "What about the calls you're going to be getting from Bob –?"

"And Phil? Already called them this morning and gave them your number. Told Bill too." The smile remained.

His expression still neutral, Mike eased himself down onto the easy chair. "I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?" he mumbled, looking everywhere around the room except at his partner, who was still standing near the coffee table.

Steve frowned. "What? You don't think this is a good idea?" He sounded uncertain all of a sudden.

Mike's eyes finally slid in his direction and stopped. "I think it's a great idea." He smiled slowly. "I'm glad you're here."

Chuckling and shaking his head, Steve lowered himself slowly onto the couch, his right hand on his left ribs.

"Are you okay?" Mike asked, frowning in concern.

Steve nodded quickly. "Yeah, it's getting a lot better but every once in awhile…" He cocked his head and shrugged carefully.

"Oh, tell me about it," Mike snorted. "I have to admit, when I got back here last night, I was in a lot of pain. But it's a little better now. It was great to get a good night's sleep in my own bed, let me tell you. And I took one of those pain pills they gave me. Boy, do they work!"

"Yeah, I know." They shared a soft laugh then Steve's head came up quickly. "Ah, yeah, ah, how _did_ you and Roy get home yesterday?"

Mike's face lit up. "Oh, ah, yeah…" He got up again slowly and crossed to the front door. "Come here, I'll show you." He opened the door.

Frowning in confusion, Steve stood and crossed slowly to stand beside his partner at the front door. Smiling, Mike nodded towards the street. Steve stepped onto the landing and looked around but didn't notice anything that stood out, as far as he was concerned. "What am I looking for?"

Mike pointed across the street, to a row of cars parked diagonally to the curb. "This side of the Volkswagen…"

"The green Monte Carlo?"

Mike smiled and nodded.

"They gave you Lonsdale's car?" He sounded surprised and confused.

Sagging slightly with a short, frustrated sigh, Mike shook his head. "It's not Lonsdale's."

"Oh… well, what then? Somebody lent you a car?"

Shaking his head, the older man started to chuckle. "Nope. Somebody… well, a lot of somebodies, actually…bought it for me."

Silently, Steve's head turned slowly towards him, his eyebrows raised. Mike nodded again.

"Come on back in and I'll tell you all about. You want a coffee?"

# # # # #

They had spent what was left of the afternoon going over their plan of attack. As frustrating as it was, they were in a waiting game. They had yet to hear anything from Sacrament and the IRS, which would help them figure out when 'Daniel Harrison' came into existence. And in the same vein, they were still waiting for the LAPD to talk to the owner of the Palms Blvd. house Lonsdale was renting – he was on vacation in Hawaii and scheduled to return at the end of the month.

Mike was just about to pick up the phone to order a pizza when it rang, briefly startling him. "Might be Jeannie," he chuckled as he picked up the receiver. "Hello. Oh, hi, Phil… Yeah… Yeah, it's a real beauty, it really is. Like I said, I can't thank you - I know, I know, just arrest Lonsdale… Yeah, he's here… Well, you can tell me too, you know…" He laughed. "I know, I know, you were told to call Steve so you're calling Steve… Okay, just a second…" He held the receiver out, chuckling, and Steve crossed the room to take it with a soft laugh. "He said I told him to call you so he's calling you…"

"Hi, Phil, what've you got?" Steve raised his eyebrows, smiling. Suddenly his smile disappeared. "You're kidding… Seriously… And they had the work order?... Great, just a sec, I gotta get a pen…"

Mike disappeared quickly into the kitchen, where they had been brainstorming at the kitchen table over coffees, and returned with a pad and pen in his right hand. He handed them over and Steve dropped the pad onto the coffee table, trying not to wince as he stuffed the receiver under his ear against his shoulder. "Okay, shoot," he barked into the phone, then began to scribble words and numbers on the pad. It didn't take long. Finished, he sat back slightly. "Thank you, Phil. Great work… Yeah… Yeah, Mike and I'll take it from here… Yeah, the landlord, right… Okay, whenever you get it… Yeah, thanks. Okay, have a great night, say hi to Bob for us and, wow, Phil, thank you very much… Yeah… Good night."

Steve set the receiver on the black cradle and sat back, exhaling loudly before he looked up into the expectant eyes of his partner. He smiled triumphantly. "That little idea of yours, about the mileage? Well, it paid off."

"It did?" Mike asked almost breathlessly, sitting slowly in the easy chair, not taking his eyes off his partner.

"Yeah. They got more info from MasterCard today and they found a charge for a garage from seven weeks ago. They paid it a visit this afternoon and they got their hands on the work order for the appointment… and you were right. The garage made note of the mileage."

Mike's smile was getting larger. "We already have the mileage on his car now, don't we?"

"Yes, we do." The younger man grinned back.

"Do we have a map?" Mike asked, his eyes dancing.

Steve nodded. "I had Bill pick one up when he brought the MasterCard faxes over yesterday. How's your math?"

"Not as good as yours, I'm sure. I think Jeannie has a calculator up in her room. I'll go look for it."

"I'll get the map."

They headed off in different directions.

# # # # #

They had spread out the map of the western states on the coffee table and put the long legal-length pad and the calculator on top of it. There was a small pile of notes scattered on top of the map and two pairs of intense eyes staring at it all.

"Okay," Steve began slowly, "so what was the mileage from Lonsdale's house to the bar and back again?"

Mike picked up one of the pieces of paper. "Ah, one point three miles."

"Okay… So what do you think? He goes to the bar, what, five times a week?"

After a beat, and with a facial shrug, the older man nodded. "Well, while we were there he showed up almost every night so… yeah… let's go with five. How many miles is that?"

Steve punched the numbers into the calculator. "Six and a half."

"And how many weeks ago was the garage visit?"

"Seven." He hit three more buttons. "45.5."

"Okay, round it off to 50."

Steve made the notation.

"Okay, so that covers the bar but he obviously used the car for other stuff. So… seven weeks… say, ballpark it at 200 miles, you think, or is that too many?"

The younger man shrugged. "Who knows? Sure, why not?" He made another note then started to punch more buttons on the calculator. When he finally finished, he looked up at his partner. "Okay, making all the deductions, there are fourteen hundred and eighty miles unaccounted for. So we divide that in half…" He hit three more buttons. "And that leaves us with 740 miles." He glanced up and smiled sheepishly. "I know how to divide by two but I just wanted to be sure…"

Mike chuckled and playfully swatted him on the arm.

Steve picked up the pad and calculator and set them on the couch. They both leaned over the map. Checking the map scale, Steve took a black marker and made a large dot near the California-Oregon border.

"What do you think?" Mike asked. "Give ourselves a hundred mile buffer around the 740 mile limit?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah…" He drew a circle, delineating a large area in the centre of the map.

They both sat back. The black line extended from Redding in upstate California to just south of Eugene, Oregon, and from the Pacific Coast in the west into northern Nevada and the border of Idaho to the east.

"Holy crap," Steve breathed, dropping the marker in frustration.

Mike was staring at the map and nodding slowly. He took off his reading glasses and tossed them lightly on the table. "Wow, that's a lot of real estate," he whispered to himself. He turned to his partner and shrugged apologetically.


	25. Chapter 25

Steve chuckled softly. "Well, you didn't actually think this was going to be easy, did you?"

His blue eyes staring almost sadly at the map and the very large area within the thick black border, Mike snorted. "We're gonna need a lot more information, Smiley. There's no way you and I are going to be able to knock on every door inside that circle all by ourselves," he sighed.

"Ovoid," Steve corrected quietly.

Knit brows turned in his direction. "What?"

Pointing vaguely at the map, Steve stuttered, "Ah, it's, ah… it's a not a circle… it's, ah… it's an ovoid." He swallowed heavily, wincing not in pain but anticipation.

"An ovoid…"

"Yeah, uh… an ovoid…"

There was a long uncomfortable silence as the older partner stared unblinkingly at the younger, then turned slowly back to the map. "Well, I'm glad one of us went to college."

Steve laughed and Mike smiled with an easy chuckle, then he sighed again.

"Well, I don't think we can really start until we hear from the IRS about the history of 'Daniel Harrison', don't you? Then we'll have a ballpark timeframe to work with."

Steve nodded. "Unless we get really, really lucky and something drops into our laps that we don't know about…"

Mike chuckled again. "I admire your optimism."

The younger man got up. "You want another coffee? I can put a fresh pot on." He glanced out the front window; it was getting dark. "We've got to start thinking about what we want to do for dinner."

With a heavy sigh, Mike nodded. "Yeah, coffee sounds good." Steve had just disappeared into the kitchen when there was a loud knock on the door. "I'll get it," he called out as he got gingerly to his feet. His ribs were giving him fits again and he knew he was going to have to take another pill.

He opened the heavy front door to reveal a smiling Inspector Tanner, a brown leather briefcase in one hand. "Special delivery." He hefted the briefcase and watched Mike's eyes widen.

"You got them already?"

"I did."

"Come in, come in." Mike took a step back so Tanner could walk past him into the living room.

The younger man crossed to the coffee table, frowning at the map and calculator.

"We'll explain all that some other time. You can put the case down on the map, don't worry about it," Mike waved at him, stepping deeper into the room.

Hearing a familiar voice, Steve entered from the kitchen. "Bill, what brings you here?"

"Ah, he, ah, he did a little job for me today." Mike nodded at Tanner, who set the briefcase on the map and opened it. He took out four fairly thick tan folders, which Steve immediately recognized as very old police department files. With a triumphant smile, he held them out for Mike to take, who glanced down at his immobilized left arm and raised his eyebrows quizzically. Realizing his mistake, with a self-conscious chuckle Tanner put the files on the map, closed the now empty briefcase and put it on the floor.

Frowning, Steve looked from the files to his partner. Mike smiled enigmatically. "I'll tell you – both of you – about it when, and if, my hunch pays off."

Glancing at Tanner, Steve chuckled evilly and shook his head. "You and your hunches…" He looked at Tanner. "You want to stay for a coffee?"

Tanner cocked his head. "I wish I could but I gotta get home. I've got a dinner date with my wife tonight," he grinned. "First time in over a month, and I am not going to keep her waiting."

"Good for you," Mike laughed as Steve walked with their colleague to the door, slapping him on the back and nodding at him approvingly with bobbing eyebrows.

Tanner turned back at the open door. "How are you guys doing, anyway?"

Both of them nodded. "Good, good," Mike replied. "Getting better all the time."

"Good to hear," the black inspector smiled as he stepped out onto the stoop. "It's good to have you home."

"It's good to be home," Steve agreed with a smile.

Mike stepped closer to the door. "Thanks again, Bill. Great work, I mean it."

"You're very welcome," he waved over his shoulder as he started down the concrete steps. He paused briefly. "Oh, ah, Robby Benson says to say hi!"

Mike laughed. "Thanks. I'll give him a call." He could see Steve frowning at him when he closed the door and turned back into the room. "What?"

"Robby Benson down in Records?"

"The same," Mike confirmed as he crossed to the sofa and sat, putting on his reading glasses before picking up the top file.

Brow furrowed in curiosity, Steve moved closer to the coffee table. "So what's with the old files?"

Mike glanced up and smiled. "I told you I'd tell you when, and if, my hunch pays off… remember?"

"You're not even going to give me a hint?"

Mike had started to rifle through the top pages of the first file and he didn't look up. "Nope."

Steve watched him silently for several long seconds then quietly cleared his throat. "So, ah… so am I to take it that I have inherited the map… and everything it represents…?"

Still looking down, Mike nodded. "Umh-humh."

"Oh, good," he muttered sarcastically to himself with a soft shrug. "Ah, I guess I'll, ah, I'll figure out something for dinner…" he continued to mumble as he turned towards the kitchen.

"Sounds good," Mike said automatically, not lifting his eyes from the file.

# # # # #

Mike had moved to the easy chair and Steve was leaning over the map on the coffee table. The detritus of their dinner, two empty aluminum Hungry Man trays, were stacked on one of the endtables; Steve had found them in the back of the freezer.

Making another note, the younger man dropped the pen on the map and sat back with a wince, running a hand over his tired face. He glanced at his watch. "Good lord," he said quietly in disbelief, "it's almost 11."

"Humh?" came an indistinct grunt from the armchair.

"Time to go to bed," Steve said, getting carefully to his feet, a hand on his ribs; he'd been sitting in the same position for too long.

Tearing his eyes away from the file, Mike looked to his left, groaned in frustration and rolled his eyes; his watch was on his right arm. He dropped the file to his lap and twisted his wrist. "Oh, geez, you're right." He tossed the file on the coffee table and started to stand, pushing himself up with his right hand, his eyes squeezed shut.

Steve watched him with a concerned frown. "Okay, from now on we both have to get up every once in awhile and walk around so we don't stiffen up so much."

Mike chuckled as he headed for the stairs.

"So, have you found what you're looking for in those files?" the younger man asked as he followed his partner slowly up the stairs after he had turned all the lights off on the first floor.

"Oh, I'll let you know tomorrow," Mike said vaguely. "What about you, come up with a plan to cover all that ground?"

"I'll let you know tomorrow."

They both laughed.

# # # # #

"Yeah, if you could let me know as soon -… Thanks… Yeah, I know… Okay, thanks a lot." Mike hung up the phone, then jumped slightly when a throat was loudly cleared behind him. He looked in that direction to see Steve, dressed and shaved, standing on the bottom step of the staircase.

"What time did you get up?" There was a concerned frown on the young face.

Mike, still in his bathrobe and slippers, shrugged as best he could. "Just a little while ago. I, ah, I had an important call to make…"

"Unh-hunh…" Steve didn't sound convinced. "How did you sleep?"

"Good, good," the older man assured, getting to his feet and trying not to wince. "How about you?"

"Fine. Good, actually, when I finally got my brain to slow down."

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, me too." He started towards the stairs as Steve meandered in the direction of the kitchen. "Oh, ah, I haven't put the coffee on yet."

"I'll do it."

As the older man disappeared up the stairs, Steve detoured to the coffee table and the notepad that was sitting beside the phone. He leaned over the table to read what was on it. In his partner's handwriting, there was a name: Stanley Kovalev.

It meant nothing to him.

# # # # #

A coffee cup at his elbow, Steve was leaning over the map again, rapidly making notes. Mike, now dressed, came into the living room from the kitchen, a mug in his right hand and a small plate with toast in his left, which was protruding through the middle buttons of his shirt.

Steve glanced up and froze. "Are you supposed to be doing that?" he asked, nodding towards the exposed left hand and the plate.

With an annoyed grunt, Mike continued towards the armchair, putting the mug on the endtable before sitting carefully, balancing the plate. "I'm getting really sick of only being able to use my right hand. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt. I'm only using my hand. I still can't move my shoulder."

Shaking his head and chuckling, Steve returned to the map.

"What are you doing?" Mike asked as he picked up a piece of toast.

Steve sat back slightly. "Well, I've been thinking that if Lonsdale's parents are trying to keep a low profile, like their son did, they probably won't move to a big city, or large town. Do you think?"

Chewing, the older man gave the idea some thought. Eventually he nodded. "Yeah, you may be right. But cities and bigger towns'll have their own police forces, which means we can get in touch with them and ask them for assistance."

"Right. I've asked Bill to try to track down as many pictures of Lonsdale's parents – newspaper clippings, old DMV photos, that kind of thing – so we have an idea of what they looked like back then. And if we get ones that I think'll help, I'll sent out APB's to all the local forces in our search area."

Mike nodded again. "Good idea. So what's the list?" He nodded at the legal length pad on the table.

"Well, I'm making a list of all the smaller towns, the ones that probably don't have local forces so will be patrolled by state police. I'll notify them too and tell them which small towns we're interested in."

Mike was frowning slightly, continuing to nod as he chewed. "That's a mighty big net you're throwing out there, you know."

Steve sighed in frustrated agreement. "I know… but hey, it was your idea, wasn't it?"

The older man chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"No guessing, I am right."

The phone rang and they both jumped slightly then laughed self-consciously. Steve reached for the receiver. "Hello… Yeah, just a sec." He handed the receiver to Mike, who put the plate on the table before leaning forward slightly to take it.

"Hello… Yeah, yeah, thanks, John… Okay… Really? Still?..." He chuckled softly. "Yeah, I guess that's true… Okay… Yeah, yeah, well, I guess that's what I've gotta do… Yeah, thanks again. Really appreciate it… Yeah, goodbye." Staring into space, his expression unreadable, he handed the receiver back to his partner to hang up.

Steve watched him silently for a couple of seconds. "Well…?"

"Humh?" Mike's eyes slowly turned in his direction.

Steve shrugged slightly, raising his eyebrows. "So…?"

"Oh, ah," Mike smiled suddenly, "I guess you're going to get a chance to drive my new car."

"What?"

The older man raised his eyebrows and his shoulders, biting his bottom lip like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Ah, we've gotta go on a little road trip…"

"A little road trip…?"

Mike nodded vigorously.

Frowning, Steve's head went back slightly. "To where…?" he asked hesitantly.

"Ah… San Quentin."


	26. Chapter 26

"San Quentin…?" Steve was staring at his partner from under raised eyebrows. "You want to go to San Quentin?"

Swallowing heavily, Mike nodded.

"You do know the both of us aren't supposed to be going anywhere, right?"

"I know…"

"And you want us to go to San Quentin…?"

Nodding again, the older man shrugged beseechingly.

"Why?"

With an almost comical grimace, Mike wagged his head from side to side, "Ah, well, that hunch I had…?" The younger man nodded. "Well, that's where the hunch is…"

Steve sat back slightly. "That's where the hunch is…?"

Mike nodded quickly again.

"I'm going to need more details, Lieutenant."

Snorting a short, sharp laugh, Mike cleared his throat. "Well, um, I was thinking about how Lonsdale got out of the country back in '49… and of course the first thing that comes to mind is he had to have had a false passport and maybe other I.D., right? And he had to have gotten them somewhere, right…?"

It was Steve's turn to shrug. "Didn't they follow up on that at the time?"

"Well, as far as I could remember, and going over the file on Lonsdale again confirmed it, they did a… cursory investigation, to be kind, into it but didn't pursue it. They knew that Lonsdale was in the Philippines and there was no way they could get him back, so they just let it drop. I guess they had a lot of other cases at the time…" He raised his eyebrows with a facial shrug.

"So what's Quentin got to do with all that?"

Warming up to the subject, Mike leaned forward slightly. "Well, I remembered there was this really amazing forger that was working in The City back in the early 50's. I remember hearing about him at the time, while I was still walking a beat, and I knew he'd been caught and sent away. But you know how short felony sentences are and he got out and came back to The City and set up shop again.

"Well, it didn't take long for our paths to cross. I arrested him once in '63 for distributing fake driver's licenses but his shyster lawyer got him off. But three years later, I nabbed him again for counterfeiting and he got two years. In Quentin."

"And he's still there?" Steve sounded incredulous.

"Of course not," Mike growled, shaking his head in feigned irritation and the younger man chuckled. Rolling his eyes, the older one continued, "Anyway… I had Bill get those files for me because I wanted to make sure I was on the right track. I wanted to make sure Kovalev did the kind of forgery that Lonsdale and his folks would need to disappear – drivers licences, social security cards, that kinda thing. And I was right, that's his specialty."

"So why Quentin then?"

"Because he got out after that 60's conviction but he's been caught twice since then and this last time, the judge said 'that's it, he's not getting out again'. He's been in ever since."

"And you want to talk to him?"

"And I want to talk to him."

"And you think he'll confirm that he forged documents for the Lonsdale family?"

"Well, I'm hoping to convince him he has nothing left to lose if he tells me, and I'm also hoping that, if he did do it, he might remember what new names he gave the parents."

Steve sat back slightly, staring at his partner with a soft smile. "I like the way your mind works, Lieutenant."

Smiling warmly, Mike nodded. "Yeah, I sometimes like the way it works too," he chuckled.

"Ah, but there is one problem, right? Like I said, we're not supposed to go anywhere. I believe you even promised… remember?"

Mike grimaced. "Yeah, I know… that is a problem…" He looked at the younger man pleadingly.

After a couple of silent seconds, Steve sighed heavily. "When do you want to go?"

With a sudden, happy grin, Mike asked, "You got your badge and gun with you?"

Steve nodded. "They're in my bag."

"Good." Mike started to get up. "You got something to wear besides that t-shirt and jeans?"

Steve looked down at himself. "Ah, no, I didn't think –"

"Then we'll stop by your place and you can change. It's sorta on the way…" He headed towards the stairs. "I'll be back down as soon as I can."

As his partner disappeared up the stairs, Steve looked down at the files on the table and exhaled loudly. There was no way they were going to get away with this, he thought with amused helplessness.

# # # # #

"The suit and the hat don't really go with the beard, you know," Steve observed casually as he glanced across the front seat.

With a self-conscious chuckle, Mike reached up and ran his right hand over his hairy chin. "I know, but I said I wasn't going to shave it off till we had Lonsdale in custody again and that's what I'm gonna do." He looked at his partner. "So, ah, what do you think?" He gestured vaguely at the dashboard.

"The car? It's great, it really is. Personally, I think it's a real step up from the last one."

"Yeah, I think so too," Mike admitted quietly. "How does it handle?"

"Easy… you gotta like that power steering."

"Yeah... I'm looking forward to getting behind the wheel myself."

"Won't be too long," Steve added encouragingly.

Traffic had been fairly light and it didn't take much time to get up the 101 to Point San Quentin. Mike had called ahead so they were expected and, after checking in and turning over their firearms, they were led to an interview room.

A few minutes later, the far door opened and a small, thin, grey-haired man with sparkling blue eyes almost bounded into the room, followed by a tall black uniformed guard. With a nod at the two detectives, the officer watched as the prisoner sat on the cold metal chair on the near side of the table, lacing his fingers as he put his forearms on the table and leaned forward with an unexpected eagerness.

Mike glanced up at the guard and nodded. Returning the nod, the officer stepped backwards out into the corridor and shut the door.

Kovalev's eyes narrowed as he stared at the older cop, his glance flicking briefly to the fedora sitting on the table and back again. He started to smile. "I know you," he said slowly, "you arrested me a couple of times…" He unclasped his hands and snapped his fingers. "Stone… Sergeant Stone, isn't it?"

Mike smiled. "Well, it's Lieutenant now…" he answered pleasantly.

Kovalev's smile turned into a confused frown, his stare taking in the empty left sleeve and obviously bandaged shoulder. "What, you get shot or something?"

"Car accident."

"Oooo," the felon winced in sympathy. "That why you got the beard? You been on sick leave?"

"Something like that." Mike shifted in the hard chair, leaning forward slightly and nodding to the man beside him. "This is my partner, Inspector Keller."

As the wary blue eyes snapped in his direction, Steve nodded and Kovalev nodded back. The forger laid his hands flat on the table and took a deep breath. "Ah, so why the visit, Lieutenant? Not that I mind, you know… I don't get many visitors…"

"Stanley, we need help with a very important old unsolved case, and I was hoping we could pick your brain."

"What kinda old case?"

"A murder. I'm in Homicide now, have been for years. And there's a case from way back in '49 that's never been… resolved that I'd like to close the book on."

"And you think I can help you?" Kovalev asked, his eyes darting back and forth between the partners. They both nodded. "How?"

"Lonsdale," Steve said flatly, staring unblinkingly at the man across the table. "Does that name ring any bells with you?"

His gaze turning inwards, Kovalev slumped in the chair slightly. After a few long beats he screwed up his face and shook his head vaguely. "It… it sounds familiar but… I'm not sure…" He looked at Mike. "You think I did some work for this guy?"

Nodding slowly, Mike stared at him. "Yeah, maybe… He changed his name to Daniel Harrison. Does that sound familiar?"

Kovalev shook his head. "When would that be?"

"Summer of '49."

"Jeez, I was just getting started then… I didn't have much of a… a clientele, I guess you could call it. What kinda things were you thinking of?"

"A passport for sure."

"Oh, I didn't start doing passports till about '53. I was only doing driver's licenses and social security cards then. Passports were a lot trickier."

Mike had glanced at his partner and a tiny smile appeared.

"Do you remember anyone doing passports back then?"

Kovalev inhaled noisily through his teeth. "Ah… yeah, I remember one guy… a Mexican guy used to live on Pine. He was a genius at that kinda stuff, I learned a lot from him."

"He still around?"

"Nah. Nah, he died about ten years ago."

Mike leaned forward and pinned the small man with an unblinking stare. "Do you remember if you ever made any drivers licenses or social security cards for a middle-aged couple named Lonsdale in late '49 or '50?"

"What, like a married couple? Like this guy's parents?"

Both cops nodded.

Kovalev inhaled deeply again. "Well, I can't be a hundred percent sure but it's entirely possible." He chuckled. "I've done so many over the years, I can't remember them all, you know."

Two pairs of eyes stared at him expectantly.

"Can, ah, can you tell me why?"

Mike glanced at his partner and sat back slightly. Then, as clinically as he could, he relayed to Kovalev the broadest details of the Larson/Lonsdale case, of the initial arrest and subsequent flight, and the most recent arrest and escape. He finished with the hope that they might be able to track down Lonsdale's parents by discovering the names they had been living under for over twenty years.

Kovalev had sat back, his hands in his lap and his head down. He didn't say a word for several long beats after Mike had finished, then he raised his head. "I wish I could remember, I really do. I'd help you catch the little bastard in a heartbeat if I could." He sighed sadly. "I never helped anyone who was running from the law for something like murder, you gotta believe me. At least never deliberately. I turned a lot of murderers away over the years, you understand." He looked desperately from one cop to the other, hoping they would take him at his word. The older one eventually nodded.

Drawing another deep breath, he said quietly, "But yeah… I can help you…"

Both detectives sat up a little straighter. Mike leaned closer to the table. "How?"

Kovalev had dropped his head and was looking at the veteran detective from under a lowered brow. "Ain't nobody knows about this but me…" he began softly. "I, ah… I saved everything…"

Mike felt his heart thud in his chest and blood pound in his ears. He swallowed heavily.

Kovalev raised his head. "From the time I started, I saved it all. When I got caught the last time, I wasn't stupid. I knew I was probably going away for the rest of my life… So I gave it all to someone… someone I trusted…"

"Who?" Mike asked in a whisper.

The small lifer smiled wistfully. "My sister… she lives in Walnut Creek with her husband… There's boxes in her basement… A lot a boxes… I was very thorough." He smiled slightly. "She doesn't know what's in them… Nobody does but me…" He looked the lieutenant in the eye and clenched his jaw. "If there's anything about this... this Lonsdale and his parents in those boxes, it's all yours…" He leaned forward and put his clasped hands on the table again. "I'll give you her address…"


	27. Chapter 27

The hunter green Monte Carlo was heading down the 101 back towards The City. There had been a dearth of conversation in the car since it had pulled out of the San Quentin parking lot, both of its occupants contemplating the implications of what had just happened.

Steve looked across the front seat. Mike's head was back, the fedora low over his closed eyes. His right hand was resting lightly against the left side of his chest. "Are you okay?"

Not moving, Mike smiled slightly under the hat brim. "Oh, yeah… I'm just a little sore. I think the pain pill is wearing off. How about you?"

"Yeah, me too, but it's not too bad. I'll get us back home and we can just take it easy for the rest of the day… what do you say?"

"Yeah… that sounds good."

The companionable silence lengthened between them, the only sound the purring of the powerful engine and the wind whipping through the open windows.

They managed to reach The City before the start of the afternoon rush hour so traffic was fairly light as they crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and wove their way to Potrero Hill. As they turned onto De Haro, Steve started scanning the left side of the street in search of an available parking space. Mike sat up a little straighter, pushing his hat back and gazing casually out the right window.

They both caught their breaths at the same time, but for different reasons. Steve had noticed a parked dark blue LTD that looked suspiciously like an SFPD unmarked. Mike's eyes had fallen on the unwelcome sight of Captain Roy Devitt sitting halfway up the steps in front of his house.

The partners glanced at each other, both looking slightly stricken, like little boys caught in a lie. "Shit," Steve muttered under his breath while the older man exhaled loudly.

The Monte Carlo swung into an empty spot beside the LTD. Steve shifted into Park, turned off the engine and looked across the front seat again. They stared at each other in silence for a long beat before he said, "Well, this one's all yours, boss."

Mike smirked. "Gee, thanks…" he muttered as he opened the door and turned carefully in the seat, trying not to give in to the pain as he got slowly to his feet. He slammed the door and started across the street without looking up, but he was fooling no one with his feigned nonchalance.

Devitt had stood then very slowly, one deliberate step at a time, worked his way down to the sidewalk, his face expressionless.

His partner trailing in his wake, Mike stepped onto the curb before he looked up, not even attempting to act surprised to see the senior officer. He stopped and smiled congenially. "Roy. I didn't expect to see you here today."

Devitt's eyes snapped from Mike to Steve and back again. "Where were you? And don't say you were out getting groceries or going to the drugstore." He made a point of looking Mike up and down, his confrontational stare settling on the fedora.

Clearing his throat, Mike nodded. "No, ah, you're right… we weren't getting groceries or at the drugstore… but, ah," he shrugged whimsically, " I have a hunch we may have just busted our case wide open." He grinned enigmatically, waiting for a response.

Devitt folded his arms, his eyes sliding from the senior partner to the junior; Steve smiled, raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Really…" the captain commented dryly. "Do tell."

Mike chuckled and looked down briefly, shaking his head. "Oh come on, you gotta know me by now, Roy… I don't talk about my hunches until I'm sure they're gonna pay off… so you gotta give us a little time." He looked up and met the captain's eyes evenly.

Devitt knew what he was asking. After a long beat, and another glance in Steve's direction, he uncrossed his arms and pointed a forefinger at Mike. He opened his mouth to say something then stopped, froze for a long beat, then dropped his hand, sighing loudly and knowingly. "I don't know why I even bother with you, I really don't," he muttered under his breath, trying not to smile. He exhaled loudly in mock frustration. "You really mean that, about the case?"

The lieutenant's smile disappeared and he nodded. "Yeah, I really mean it."

Devitt blinked quickly a couple of times, looking down. He was obviously not expecting to hear what he just did. "Well…" he began quietly, "I'm not going to ask you where you were then…" He looked up at the softly smiling lieutenant. "So, ah, is there anything you need from me… or the department…?"

Mike shook his head. "No, ah, Steve and I can handle it but, ah, can we borrow Bill and a patrolman tomorrow morning, with one of the big cars? We, ah," he glanced at his partner and chuckled, "we need some help with a few boxes."

"A few boxes?" Devitt was frowning.

Steve nodded and Mike chuckled. "Ah, yeah, over in Walnut Creek. So we'll probably need them all morning."

"Am I allowed to ask what's in these boxes?" Mike was shaking his head before Devitt had even finished the short question. He shrugged to himself. "Why did I even bother to ask?" he murmured under his breath.

"Ah, listen, Roy," Mike said quietly, pointing up the stairs towards his house, "I don't know about Steve, but I'd really like to get in there and lie down for awhile." He put his right hand on his left shoulder. "It's been a long day already."

Suddenly frowning, Devitt's eyes snapped back and forth between the two partners. Mike's injuries were still fairly obvious but the small bandage on the younger man's forehead was his only giveaway. It was sometimes easy to forget that they were both recovering from a very serious car accident. He took a step back. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," he mumbled then froze slightly, realizing that somehow he was now on the defensive. As Mike slowly walked past him towards the stairs, he snorted softly to himself and shook his head in quiet awe.

All his frustration forgotten, he watched as his two injured colleagues made their slow way up the steep staircase to the Stone house. Remembering something, he took a quick step closer to the stairs. "Oh, ah, Mike!" he called, and the older man stopped, turning towards him slowly; lines of pain were now visible on his face and Devitt's heart skipped a beat. "Ah, sorry, I, ah… I just need to know what time you want Bill and the unie here tomorrow, that's all?" he asked with an apologetic smile and a shrug.

Nodding slowly, Mike said quietly, "Nine'll be fine… thanks, Roy." Then he turned and continued up the stairs.

# # # # #

Steve came back into the living room with a glass of water and the bottle of pills. Mike, still in his suit, the fedora on the map on the coffee table, was sitting in the easy chair with the footrest raised. His eyes were closed, his right hand resting on his bandaged shoulder.

"Here," the younger man said softly as he approached the chair, putting the glass on the endtable. Mike opened his eyes and held his hand out, waiting silently while Steve opened the pill bottle and shook one out onto his palm. Steve picked up the glass and waited till Mike was finished with it.

"Did you take yours?" the older man asked, letting his head fall back against the chair and closing his eyes.

"Yeah. Hey, ah, you feel like something to eat?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Mike gently shook his head. "I'm just gonna sit here till the pill kicks in…" he said quietly.

"Okay…"

Steve was almost through the kitchen doorway when he heard, "Are you sure you're all right?" He turned around to see the blue eyes staring at him from under a worried brow. And he knew he couldn't lie.

"I have a headache."

After a long beat, Mike tilted his head slightly towards the couch. "Lie down. I don't want you getting sick…" He smiled warmly. "I can't afford to lose you right now… not when we have a fugitive to catch…"

With a sudden lump in his throat and unable to speak, Steve swallowed heavily and nodded, smiling. He held the glass up. "I'll just dump this in the sink…" he said quietly and disappeared into the kitchen.

After pouring the water down the drain, he stood at the sink for a couple of seconds, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to slow his pounding heart. Everything they had gone through in the past several days came flooding back, taking his breath away. Almost out of habit he wrapped his right arm around his ribs; he was still in pain but it was nothing compared to those first few days.

But they had survived, they were still together, and they were on the hunt. It really couldn't get any better than that, he thought with a gentle, hopeful smile.

He turned off the overhead kitchen light and returned to the living room. Mike's head was back and his eyes closed; he looked asleep. He crossed to the picture window and closed the heavy curtains then turned off the table lamp beside the couch. He sat, staring at his partner as he slipped off his already loosened tie and tossed it on the coffee table. As he repositioned a small pillow at the end of the couch, he reached out and touched the older man's knee before, gritting his teeth against the pain in his ribs, he laid down.

And, though Steve couldn't see it, in the dark Mike smiled.

# # # # #

He opened his eyes on a darkened room lit with the spill from the overhead in the kitchen. He could hear someone moving around and he carefully craned his neck to look at the easy chair. It was empty.

He had no idea what time it was but there was no longer any sunlight bleeding around the edges of the curtain. He sat up slowly, relieved that his headache was gone and his ribs were feeling a bit better, and got slowly to his feet, using the arm of the couch for balance. He walked slowly to the kitchen doorway.

Mike, no longer in his suit, was standing at the stove. There were two pots on burners, a small one with a lid and a large uncovered one with what looked like boiling water. On the counter was a tall glass canister filled with uncooked spaghetti. With his right hand, he took the lid off the smaller pot, picked up a spoon from the counter and stirred.

Not wanting to startle the older man, Steve gently cleared his throat. "Uh, you need a hand with that?" he asked quietly, stepping deeper into the room.

Mike spun towards him. "Oh, ah, hi… I didn't know you were up." He smiled and nodded towards the big pot. "Uh, can you…?"

"Of course." Steve crossed to the counter and picked up the canister. As he put the spaghetti in the pot, he looked at his partner. "How are you feeling?"

"Good… yeah, it was good to get some sleep and let that pill kick in…" he snorted thankfully.

"Yeah, I know how that feels."

"How's your head?"

"Headache's gone… I feel pretty good too."

Smiling wistfully, Mike was nodding softly to himself, and Steve knew the older man was dealing with the same emotions that had washed over him earlier. He could see his partner casting furtive glances his way, as if reassuring himself that they were both still here and they were both recovering, physically and mentally.

They finished their dinner prep and ate it in companionable silence for the most part. Over a cup of coffee at the kitchen table, after everything had been cleared away, Mike looked at his partner and smiled. "I know we're a long way from slapping the cuffs on Jeffrey Lonsdale again, but I think today was a good day… don't you?"

Steve smiled back, nodding. "I think it was a very good day, all things considered…"

"Yeah, ' cause we're not really firing on all cylinders at the moment, are we?" Mike chuckled at the rhetorical question.

"Actually, I think some of our cylinders are slightly broken at the moment, so I think we're doing really well," Steve laughed and his partner joined him.

Mike picked up his cup and drained it. "Well, I don't know about you, Smiley, but I want to hit the hay. I think it's gonna be a long busy day tomorrow, and I want to be as ready for it as I can be."

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Look, ah, why don't you head on up. I'm just gonna sit here for awhile."

"Okay. I'll see you in the morning." As Steve nodded, Mike slowly got to his feet and shuffled from the kitchen.

Steve wrapped both hands around the warm mug, letting his eyes roam the familiar kitchen. He smiled to himself. He sometimes felt more at home in this house than he did in his own. A lump formed at the back of his throat and he felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes.

He took a careful deep breath, testing the limits of his healing ribs. There was still a long road ahead in many ways but it had felt good, and necessary he knew, to get behind the wheel today. Like getting back on the proverbial horse, it was an important step in his recovery. Just as he knew it was important for Mike to personally continue the hunt for Jeffrey Lonsdale. And he knew he would do everything in his power to make sure his partner, and the best friend he'd ever had, would succeed.

It was almost an hour before he climbed the stairs to the second floor.


	28. Chapter 28

Armed with the short letter that Stanley Kovalev had supplied him with, and hoping the aging forger had made good on his word to call his sister the previous night, Mike led the small procession up the stone walkway to the entrance of the modest bungalow on the quiet street.

A smiling, grey-haired older woman opened the door and invited them in without batting an eye, leading them through the house and down into the musty, dirt-walled, dimly-lit 'basement'. Eleven fairly large cardboard boxes, sealed with packing tape, were stacked under a blue tarp against a wall.

Less than a half hour later, the dark blue SFPD Galaxie and hunter green Monte Carlo, both trunks and backseats filled with boxes, were making their way back to The City.

# # # # #

Bidding Tanner and the uniformed officer thanks and goodbye, Mike shut the front door and turned to face his living room. The eleven boxes were now covering almost every inch of the floor; Tanner wanted to make sure that his injured colleagues wouldn't need to pick any of them up so none of them were stacked.

Steve was standing in the centre of the room, staring at the boxes with a slight frown. He glanced up and caught his partner's eye. "I don't know about you, but I didn't think there would be this many…"

"Hmmm," Mike's brow knit and he sighed with a short laugh, "well, he was in business for at least twenty years… and he said he saved everything…" He screwed up his face. "Ah, any chance he put dates on those boxes?" he asked hopefully.

Steve crouched beside one of them, turning in on the carpet as he looked at all four sides. "Of course not…" he confirmed with a chuckle.

"Great," Mike muttered, crossing towards the kitchen. "I'll get us a couple of knives so we can cut the tape."

Nodding to himself, Steve got back to his feet, staring at the boxes with his hands on his hips. It was going to be a long day, he thought.

# # # # #

The boxes were filled with all kinds of interesting things – blank fake documents, various pens, bottles of inks, stencils, rubber stamps, and papers of various sizes, weights and fibres. And photographs – lots and lots of photographs, both colour and black-and-white, 8x10's and passport, and everything in between.

It was a treasure trove.

Working his way through the first of the boxes, Mike glanced up and smiled. "When we're done, I'm gonna get in touch with Mark in Bunco and dump all this in his lap. I bet he'll think it's Christmas!"

Steve laughed. "I know he saved everything, which is amazingly wonderful, but good god, it would've been nice if he put a date on things once in awhile. This is gonna take forever."

"Well, at least we've got a lot of coffee…" Mike snorted with a chuckle as he continued to work his way through the large box.

# # # # #

It had taken almost three hours to clear four boxes and they took a short break for a very late lunch, refueling with ham sandwiches and Cokes. It had already been a trip down memory lane for Mike, many of the documents and photographs he had uncovered bringing several of his old cases back to mind. It took all his self-control not to wander off on story-telling tangents but he knew speed was of the essence if they hoped to track Lonsdale down as soon as humanly possible.

They were wandering back into the living room from the kitchen when the phone rang. Mike answered it on the second ring. "Hello… Yeah, hi, Bill… What?... Really?... Okay, great, thanks… No, ah, there's no rush on that. We can get it later. But, ah, look, if you can follow up on that angle that would be great… Yeah, thanks… Okay, later…" He hung up the receiver and stood staring at it for a couple of seconds, frowning. Finally he looked up at his partner. "Ah, that was Bill -"

"Yeah, I got that," Steve interrupted with a chuckle and Mike smirked, cocking his head.

"Anyway… he just heard from Sacramento. 'Daniel Harrison' started filing California income taxes in 1962…"

Steve frowned. "So he's been back in the country for twelve years…? Sonuvabitch. He's been living under the radar for that long…"

"In California," Mike pointed out. "He might have been living in another part of the country before that."

"Yeah. So he really wasn't in the Philippines all those years…"

"Anyway, ah, Bill is going to pursue that line, see if that leads anywhere, which I doubt but… who knows… After he gets the returns, we'll know if he's held a job all these years, or whether he's been living off his parents money." He looked at the boxes and sighed. "But, in the meantime, we've got to get back to work here, don't we?" He looked up at his partner and smiled.

Steve smiled back. "Yes, we do."

# # # # #

Long after the sun had gone down, they were through less than half the boxes.

Mike, in the armchair, an open file folder in his lap, slowly laid the back of his head against the chair, groaning and closing his eyes. Steve looked over from the couch. "You okay?"

Grimacing, the older man shook his head. He caught his breath before he said through clenched teeth, "I've gotta call it a day…" He pressed his right hand against the left side of his chest, squeezing his eyes tighter.

Steve watched him worriedly for a couple of long silent seconds before he asked quietly, "You want another pill?"

Mike carefully shook his head, trying to smile reassuringly. "I'll be okay… just gotta lie down for awhile…" He took several deep breaths through his open mouth. "It's not the broken ribs, it's where they put the chest tube in…" He made a face. "It doesn't seem to be getting any better… at least not very fast…"

"Well, you haven't actually been taking it easy like you're supposed to…" Steve shrugged slightly, trying not to sound accusatory.

"I know…" the older man admitted softly, "but if we want to get our hands on Jeffrey Lonsdale before he disappears completely, we can't… dilly-dally…"

Steve's eyebrows went up and he smiled. "Dilly-dally…? Is that an old police procedural term I haven't heard yet?"

Mike laughed with a groan, increasing the pressure of his hand on his chest and squeezing his eyes closed again.

Steve stood. "Come on." He waved his partner up. "You get upstairs and go to bed and I'll clean up down here a bit and follow you. I'm beat too…" Mike looked up at him. "We've done enough for today… more than enough…" He made the 'get up' gesture again.

Inhaling carefully in anticipation, looking down and putting his right hand on the chair arm, Mike gingerly pushed himself to his feet. Steve watched as he padded slowly to the stairs and disappeared up onto the second floor.

With a sigh, putting his own right hand on his aching ribs, Steve looked around the room. There was still so much material for them to go through, with no guarantee that anything concrete would come of it. He walked quietly to the bottom of the stairs and listened. Satisfied that Mike was in his room and the door was closed, he crossed to the phone and dialed a familiar number.

# # # # #

They were back at it early the next morning. Mike had assured his concerned partner that he was feeling much better after a pretty good night's sleep and an early morning pain pill, so after a quick breakfast, they were nursing their coffees back in their usual spots in the living room.

And though they were uncovering some interesting items that bore closer scrutiny at another time, there was still no sign that Stanley Kovalev had done any work for someone named Lonsdale.

Sitting on the couch and almost knee deep in files he had yet to examine, Steve surreptitiously glanced at his watch then at his partner. He had just turned over another photograph to read the notations on the back when the doorbell rang.

He froze almost imperceptibly, peripherally seeing his partner's head snap up as Mike frowned in the general direction of the front door then looked at him.

"Who the hell is that?" the older man grumbled, starting to put the file down.

"I'll get it, I'll get it," Steve said quickly as he put his papers on the couch, getting to his feet and crossing with a nonchalance he didn't feel to open the door. Without a word, he took a step back and Devitt walked into the living room, glancing at the younger man with a curt nod before turning his attention to Mike, who was taking everything in with a scowl.

"Mike," Devitt acknowledged with a nod.

"Roy," the lieutenant responded warily, taking off his glasses. "What brings you here?"

Devitt's smile was strained but instantaneous. "You and I are going for a little drive. You have an appointment with one of the department doctors. He's going to check you out."

"What?" The word was laced with both surprise and anger as the blue eyes snapped from the captain to his partner. "What do you mean -?"

"I called Roy last night," Steve interrupted, taking a step closer and meeting the now defiant blue eyes evenly. "You said when we were down in Pasadena that you'd go see your doctor when you got back and you haven't. And last night you were in more pain than you've been in days." He paused and sighed in mild frustration. "I just want to know you're okay… and that what we've been doing these past few days isn't exacerbating your condition… or delaying your recovery… That's all."

Mike, who had been staring at them angrily, blinked suddenly and looked down. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Devitt glanced at Steve then took a step deeper into the room. "Listen, Mike, if the doctor says you're okay then I don't see any reason you can't continue to do…" he gestured vaguely at the boxes and the piles of papers and what-not around the room, "… whatever it is you guys are doing here…"

Mike's head came up slowly and he stared at the grey-haired captain skeptically.

Despite himself, Devitt smiled. He raised his right hand in a parody of the Boy Scouts salute. "I promise."

The blue eyes slid expressionlessly from the captain to his partner. Steve smiled encouragingly. After a couple of very long silent beats, Mike blinked slowly and began to shake his head. He inhaled deeply. "All right," he exhaled, starting to get slowly to his feet. "Just give me a few minutes to change. I'm not going like this," he growled.

Sighing silently with relief, Devitt glanced at Steve and smiled. "That's okay, we have some time," he said brightly as they both watched the older man head towards the staircase. The captain rolled his eyes and shook his head; Steve exhaled quietly with a relieved smile.

# # # # #

"He's just worried about you… You know that, right?" Devitt stated matter-of-factly, looking across the front seat.

Mike, wearing a checkered shirt and khakis, was staring out the side window from under the 49ers cap. "I know," he mumbled softly.

Devitt glanced over again, encouraged. "Look, ah, this shouldn't take too long. You know, I tried to call your doctor but he was all booked up and couldn't fit you in."

Mike finally looked over. "So who am I seeing?"

"Parker."

Mike raised his eyebrows slightly and nodded. "I've seen him before. He's a good guy."

Devitt smiled to himself. "Yeah, he is…"

# # # # #

Steve looked up as the door opened and Mike stepped over the threshold. "That didn't take too long. What did the doctor say?"

Mike chuckled as he shut the door and turned to face the room. "Jeez, can you wait till I get in."

Encouraged by the playful tone, Steve laughed softly.

As he moved closer to the armchair, Mike took a small bottle of pills out of his shirt pocket and shook it. "I have more pills," he almost smiled as he put the bottle on the endtable and started to sit.

Steve frowned. "What, more pain pills?"

Mike shook his head as he lowered himself carefully onto the armchair. "Nope. Antibiotics. Turns out I have a slight infection where they put the tube in."

"An infection?" There was obvious concern in the young voice.

"It's pretty normal, the doc said, and nothing to worry about. The pills'll clear it up."

Steve relaxed. "And that's all?"

Mike smiled. "That's all."

"Great." Unable to stop himself, Steve exhaled loudly, his relief evident. He looked down at the file on his lap then quickly back up at his partner again. "You want to know what else is great?" he asked with a slight smile.

Mike looked at him, his brow furrowing and his eyes narrowing.

Steve picked up the file and turned it around, holding it out. "I found them…"


	29. Chapter 29

Mike stared at his partner without moving for a long beat, as if not believing his ears; Steve smiled slightly. "Ah, what…?" The word was breathless.

The younger man nodded gently. "I found them…"

Slowly, the blue eyes looked down at the file Steve was holding out and with a slightly shaking hand, he took it.

Steve leaned forward even more, staring at the top of his partner's downturned head. "Alfred and Jane Lonsdale… they used Kovalev's, ah, services in January of 1950…" He watched as Mike picked his reading glasses up from the endtable and put them on, his eyes raking the top piece of paper in the file. It was a handwritten list of names, most of them scratched out, two of them circled. Underneath was a small black-and-white photo of a middle-aged man and woman.

Mike glanced up. "The Lonsdales?"

Steve nodded. "From what I can figure out, Kovalev supplied them with social security numbers and documents, and a driver's license for him but not for her. Guess she didn't know how to drive." He shrugged.

Picking up the top sheet, Mike asked, "This is their new names? Peter and Adele Carlyle?"

Nodding again, the younger man pointed to a notation on the list. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure." He reached out and lifted a couple of fake documents, pulling out a piece of letter-length yellow lined paper. He pointed to a name circled several times in black ink: Peter Carlyle. "As you can see, there's a number of duplicates in there… but I think they're, I don't know, practice documents…? Kovalev did tell us he was just starting out back then, so I'm thinking he was perfecting his craft, so to speak. What do you think?"

Mike was nodding slowly, his lips pursed. "Yeah, that sounds about right, I'd guess…" He looked up and grinned. "You did good, Smiley, you did really good…"

Steve sat back and chuckled. "I just lucked out, that's all, it was your hunch." He slapped his partner on the knee and got to his feet, picking up his empty coffee cup and heading towards the kitchen. "You want a coffee?"

Mike glanced up from the papers he was rifling through. "Ah, yeah, thanks…" He raised his voice when the younger man disappeared into the kitchen. "So you know what we have to do now, right?! We have to call –!"

"Sacramento, I know!" Steve called back. "Already did it! I'm getting them to track down a Mr. and Mrs. Peter and Adele Carlyle to see if they have been paying their taxes and what their address is! They promised to get back to me as soon as they can!" He re-entered the living room with two mugs, handing one to his partner before sitting on the couch again.

Mike was watching him with a proud smile. "You've had a busy and productive morning, haven't you?" he chuckled as he took the cup.

"Well, I had to do something while you were gone." He took a sip of his coffee then put the cup on the map still on the table. "So, you still think Lonsdale will have tried to make it to his parents place?"

Mike, swallowing a sip of his own coffee, nodded as he put the cup on the endtable. "Yeah, I do. I don't think he's ever broken those ties… they're just too deep. I mean, it was his parents who got him out of the country and no doubt kept in touch with him while he was in The Philippines. And from what we know right now, there's no indication he's had a job all these years so… what? He's been living off his parents all this time…? Well, if that's true, then where do _you_ think he'd go now… he's on the run, he's hurt…" Mike raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense," Steve nodded slowly. "Well, let's just hope they stayed in California."

"Well, 'up north' means only two other states, you know…" Mike chuckled. "Oregon and Washington… I don't think they're in Canada… So it's not like we're gonna have to check out all 48…"

Steve laughed, picking up his coffee cup and sitting back. "Well, that does narrow it down a fair bit."

His grin disappearing, the older man stared at his partner for a quiet second. "This is it, Steve, I just know it," he said soberly, raising the file slightly and nodding at it. "And now I really do believe we're finally going to be able to close the book on that whole Brigitte Larson tragedy…"

A sober silence settled over them for a few long seconds, then Steve said quietly, "Well, I for one am really hoping they stayed in California… because if they're anywhere else, that means we've gotta cross state lines and that means the FBI will want to get involved… and I don't want that, do you?"

Mike was staring at him without expression. "This is ours… and I'm not handing it over to anyone." He smiled determinedly, and so did his partner.

# # # # #

When the phone rang a couple of hours later, they both jumped and stared at it, then looked at each other. Steve grabbed the receiver. "Hello… Yes?... Yes," he gestured for the pad and Mike picked it up and dropped it on the table in front of him as Steve scrambled to pick up a pen. He started to jot things down, the older man looking over his shoulder. "Yes… Unh- hunh… Yeah… Okay, thank you. Thank you very much, you've been very helpful." He hung up then looked up at his anxious partner.

Mike was squinting at the chicken-scratch handwriting on the pad. "Does that say Picard Road?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded rapidly. "Peter and Adele Carlyle live at 2821 Picard Road outside Dorris, California."

"Dorris? Never heard of it."

"I don't think anybody has… well, outside of Dorris itself, I guess. It has a population of 831. It's not what you'd call a metropolis."

Straightening up, Mike chuckled. "Where is it, exactly…?" He started to bend over the map.

Steve leaned forward as well. "She said it was up near the Oregon border." They studied the map. "Here," he said suddenly, pointing.

Mike sighed heavily. "How long to you think it would take us to drive up there?"

After a couple of silent seconds, Steve looked up. "About six hours, give or take."

"Six, hunh?" Mike mumbled, sitting back down on the armchair. He sat in silence for several very long beats then leaned forward. "Pass me the phone," he said quickly and Steve picked it up and set it on the coffee table in front of the older man. Mike carefully stuffed the receiver between his ear and left shoulder and started to dial. "I'm calling Rudy. We need to get a lot of ducks in a row if you and I are driving up there tomorrow and raiding that house."

Steve's eyes widened.

# # # # #

The waiting was the hardest part. Mike had made all the necessary phone calls and put the requisite wheels in motion and now everything was out of his hands.

So to make the most of their time, and even though they had already found what they were looking for in Kovalev's copious files, they decided to work their way through the rest of the boxes on the outside chance the prolific forger had done work for Jeffrey Lonsdale and just forgot about it.

The late-in-the-day summer sun was starting to set when the phone finally rang. Mike got to it first, snapping it up as he was crossing from the armchair to the kitchen with his empty coffee cup. He swallowed a gasp of discomfort as he almost lunged for the phone, slamming the cup down on the table before he could grab the receiver. He glanced over his shoulder into the kitchen, hoping his partner hadn't heard the sharp, pain-filled inhale. "Hello," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Mike?" It was Rudy Olsen, sounding very confused.

"Yeah, yeah, it's me."

"Oh, geez, it didn't sound like you for a second there. You okay?" The confusion had turned into concern.

"I'm fine. What's the news?"

"Ah, okay… Well, tomorrow is out. It seems –"

"What?" Mike interrupted sharply. "What do you mean 'tomorrow's out'?"

"I mean," Olsen overrode loudly and sharply, "that we can't get everything together that we need to on such short notice. You've been at this long enough, you know how things work." There was more than a hint of frustration in his voice now. "A lot of things have to be signed, sealed and coordinated and you know that better than most. I'm working as fast as I can – a lot of people are – but we can't perform miracles. It's still a bureaucracy, you know."

The line went silent for several long beats. Finally Mike said quietly, "Okay… ah, when do you think all the things we need will get done then…?" He sounded almost contrite and on the other end of the line there was a soft sigh and an almost inaudible chuckle.

Mike looked up. Steve was standing a couple of feet away, staring at him with raised eyebrows and a tiny smirk; he knew what was going on, and that his partner had just been gently dressed down by his boss.

Olsen cleared his throat. "Okay, well, I've managed to get in touch with CHP and they're notifying the station in Yreka, which is the closest one to Dorris."

"Eureka? That's not very close –"

"Not Eureka. Yreka, with a 'Y'. That's how it's pronounced too – Y-reeka, just so you know. It's about an hour away, to the south. The commander there is going to arrange for a search warrant for the Carlyle house but that can't be done till sometime tomorrow. He's pretty sure there won't be a problem… After I explained everything that's going on, he was a hundred percent on our side. He's going to get a judge to sign the warrant and then he'll put together a team to serve it… but it won't be till the day after tomorrow. He suggested you and Steve drive up there in the morning and they'll have everything ready to go early afternoon. And that way, if Lonsdale is there, all the paperwork will be done and you can bring him back here the same day."

Steve could see Mike's posture begin to sag as he listened silently to what their captain was telling him. His disappointment was obvious.

"So, ah… you still there?" Olsen asked suddenly, surprised that he hadn't been interrupted.

"Yes, I'm still here," Mike answered pedantically and Steve snorted and swallowed a smile. The older man shot him a scowl and he turned and walked back into the kitchen.

"So, anyway, that's where things stand at the moment. I suggest you get a good night's sleep, and take the day tomorrow to rest up 'cause the next day is going to be a long one. Oh, ah, and, ah, you're not going up there alone, you two. Tanner is going with you."

"What? That's not necessary –"

"Oh yes it is!" Olsen cut him off again. "You're both still, technically, on sick leave, you're both still recovering, and I am not having you sitting in the back seat with Lonsdale on the way home. So you're taking Tanner with you – no ifs, ands or buts – or you're not going at all. Do I make myself clear?"

There was another uncomfortable silence followed by a clipped, "All right."

"Good. Well, ah, that's it for now," the captain growled gruffly, "so, ah, you and Steve have a good night and I'll call you again tomorrow and let you know how things are coming together. Okay?"

Mike exhaled loudly. He wasn't happy but he was also practical. He knew Olsen and the powers that be at the CHP were doing the best they could as quickly as they could. He really couldn't expect anything more.

"Yeah… Listen, ah, Rudy, thanks a lot. I really mean it. I, ah… it's a lot to get done on such short notice and you've done great, you really have…"

"Well, ah… thanks, Mike, I appreciate that… So, ah, I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay. Good night."

"You too."

Mike stood with the receiver in his hand, staring into space, for several long seconds. Steve wandered back in from the kitchen, a cold can of Coke in one hand and a ginger ale in the other, and approached his partner. Mike shook his head slightly as if waking himself up and looked at his partner. He took a deep breath. "So, ah, we're not going 'up north' till the day after tomorrow."

"Yeah, I kinda got that impression." He held the ginger ale out.

Mike glanced at it and smiled, bending down to hang up the receiver before taking the can.

"Don't worry, we'll get him," Steve said with quiet assurance. Then, smiling, he held his Coke up.

After a moment's hesitation, Mike raised the ginger ale, clinking it against the Coke can. He smiled as well. "To us."


	30. Chapter 30

**The Final Chapter – Chapter 30**

They had both managed to get a good night's sleep, the sun well and truly up before Mike made his slow way down the stairs, trying not to make a sound as he crossed quietly to the kitchen. Jeannie's room was right above it and linoleum in the old house could make quite the racket if one wasn't careful. So he padded around noiselessly, filling the coffee maker with one hand taking a lot longer than normal even though he'd had practice.

He was valiantly trying to mix the batter for pancakes when a sleepy-eyed Steve appeared in the doorway, just in time to lend a much-needed hand or two. And with just a little bit of coaching from the old pro, they managed between them to whip up a pretty decent breakfast.

Resigned to the fact that they weren't going to be able to do anything of true substance that day, they had decided to spend their time finishing their dive into Kovalev's remaining boxes. There had been nothing connecting Kovalev to Jeffrey Lonsdale, but there had been a lot of valuable evidence from other cases that Mike knew were still open. He had decided to set that material aside and that when they were completely finished with all the boxes, he could make the requisite calls to the various departments and arrange for pickups.

It had turned out to be a busier day than they were expecting and it had taken several hours to finish their careful examinations of the remaining boxes. The living room was covered with small piles, mostly paperwork, that would be handed over to the different departments in the hopes they could spark the reopening of several cases which were old, closed and cold.

They had worked their way through the afternoon into the evening without noticing and, not wanting to waste time cooking, phoned for a pizza delivery. Steve was in the kitchen, taking a couple of plates out of the cupboard, and Mike was upstairs when there was a commotion outside the front door and it suddenly opened. Surprised, Steve spun and took a quick step to the kitchen entrance in time to see the front door swing open and Jeannie trying to lug her heavy suitcase over the threshold.

"Mike!" she yelled, her attention behind her on the bag, "Mike, are you here?!"

As the bag thudded to the floor, she turned an anxious, happy face towards the living room and froze in surprise when she saw her father's partner standing in the kitchen door, his eyes wide and stricken.

Neither moved nor said a word for a couple of beats then her focus shifted slightly to the bandage on the young man's forehead. She frowned with worry. "Where's Mike?" she asked quickly, fear in her tone.

"I'm right here, sweetheart," came her father's startled voice from above and her eyes snapped to the staircase as he almost jogged down the steps.

Her smile of relief turned quickly to concern when she noticed the empty sleeve and his obviously bandaged left shoulder. "Oh my god!" she gasped. "Were you shot?"

"No, no, no," her father reassured quickly, raising his right hand and crossing to the door, trying to envelop her in a one-armed welcoming hug. Her arms automatically encircled him and she returned the squeeze gently; he could feel her shaking. Still holding tight, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head, he soothed quietly, "Relax, relax, relax… we just had a car accident, that's all."

She pulled away from him and looked up at his face. "That's all?" she almost spat out, fear getting the better of her. "What do you mean, you had a car accident? With the LTD?" Her eyes were now snapping back and forth between her father and his partner.

Trying to keep a lid on things, Mike smiled warmly as he took her elbow and led her towards the couch. She allowed herself to be propelled through the small forest of boxes and piles of papers that covered the entire living room floor, the coffee table and armchair stacked with papers, rubber stamps, bottles of ink and pens of various sizes and shapes. Her brows knit even further as her father pushed her down onto an empty spot on the couch and she looked up at him. "You have a beard…?" she mumbled and he chuckled softly.

He moved the stack of papers on the armchair to the coffee table and sat; Steve had wandered closer, ready to provide backup if needed.

Jeannie's eyes traveled around the room again then up to Steve before finally settling back on her father. He waited patiently, knowing the questions would come eventually when the young woman had taken everything in. "All right…" she said finally, taking a deep breath, "what's going on, Dad?"

Mike started slightly. It always rattled him when she called him that; it meant she was either deadly serious or really worried. He swallowed involuntarily then chuckled uncomfortably and raised his eyebrows. "Well, sweetheart, it's a long story – and one we'll tell you all about," he added quickly, glancing up at Steve, who nodded, "but I just want you to know that both of us are okay… all right? Yes, we were banged up and, yes, we're both on sick leave – that's why Steve's here. But as you can see," he gestured towards the ordered mess scattered throughout the room, "we're still on the job, so to speak." He paused and shrugged with a reassuring smile. "So… everything's fine." The smile disappeared and he frowned. "But, ah… what are you doing home so soon? I thought you had exams for another week."

Jeannie, who had been listening with a furrowed brow as her father did his best to explain what was going on, tore her focus from the messy living room to stare into his expectant blue eyes. Suddenly she was on the defensive, she knew; he was good at that. "I got a bye for my last two exams because of my marks… so I got to come home early…"

Mike's eyebrows shot up and he grinned. "You did? That's great." He glanced up at Steve, unable to mask his fatherly pride, and the younger man smiled back.

"Don't change the subject," she growled, her eyes narrowing as she pinned her father with a determined stare that should have made him proud. "I didn't see our car out there, that's why I thought you weren't here. Was it our car?"

Mike inhaled deeply and tried to grin. "Umh… ah, yeah, actually it _was_ our car…"

Her eyes snapped up to Steve who returned a facial shrug and a tilt of his head. She looked at her father again. "Is it being fixed?"

Mike exhaled loudly, grimacing and shaking his head. "Ah, no… no, it's, ah, it's not coming home…"

"You totaled it?" Her eyes got a little wider.

Mike opened to his mouth to reply, paused, closed his mouth then looked up at Steve. "I, ah, I wasn't driving…"

Jeannie's eyes snapped to her father's partner. "You were driving?" She sounded almost accusatory. He nodded. "Why were _you_ driving?" She looked back at her father again. "Why was _he _driving?"

"Ah…" Mike hesitated, "well, ah… we had a prisoner in the car and –"

"You had a prisoner in the car? In _our_ car? Why did you have a prisoner in our car?"

Mike looked up at Steve, who smiled at him helplessly but kept mum. "You're a big help…" he mumbled under his breath as he turned back to his daughter, who was getting more and more irate by the moment. "Ah, well, ah, I had to drive the car back anyway –"

"Back from where?"

_She doesn't miss a beat_, he thought with a mental sigh as he tried to figure out exactly what to say. "Well, ah, from, ah, Venice…" He shrugged.

She glared at him for a few silent seconds, her eyes narrowing even more. "I'm assuming you mean the one in L.A. and not the one in Italy…?"

Mike nodded enthusiastically. "Right, yeah, that one."

She glanced up at Steve again, who had yet to say a word. He nodded with raised eyebrows. "What were you doing in Venice?"

Mike inhaled deeply. "Well, ah, that's the beginning of the long story."

"Well," she said, sitting back and crossing her arms, "I have the time…"

Mike looked up at his partner again, his eyes widening in a silent threat. Steve opened his mouth to comment when the doorbell rang. Both men jumped slightly. Steve smiled. "That must be the pizza. I'll get it," he said quickly as he almost raced to the door.

Mike leaned closer to his daughter. "Sweetheart, there's a lot I've got to… explain to you, I know… But you have to understand…" He sat back slightly and gestured towards the stacks of boxes and papers that covered the living room. "We're trying to close a really old open case of the rape and murder of girl younger than you…"

Jeannie uncrossed her arms and sat up. She stared into her father's eyes for a long moment, knowing he was being truthful with her, then reached out and touched his face. "I'm sorry, Daddy, I didn't mean to be so…" She shrugged apologetically. "I'm just worried, that's all…"

He smiled with a gentle chuckle. "I know, honey, I know. But we're fine, really, both of us," he glanced towards the door where Steve was paying the delivery boy, "and after we eat, I promise we'll tell you all about it, okay?"

She smiled at him with a mixture of relief and love. "Okay…" She leaned forward and kissed him. "Your beard is rough," she laughed as she grabbed his right hand and squeezed.

Steve was just disappearing into the kitchen with the pizza box. Mike took her hand and started to pull her up. "Come on, let's have dinner, and we'll tell you all about it."

Laughing, she let herself be dragged into the kitchen.

# # # # #

It took the better part of an hour, and the delivery of a second pizza, for them to fill her in on most of the details of the past couple of weeks. They studiously left out several details, like the seriousness of the treatment Mike received at the scene, and the fact that Jeffrey Lonsdale had escaped with his gun.

But they did tell her about Jerry Renneker's phone call, Steve tracking his partner down in Venice, the surveillance of Hiraro's and the acquisition of the fingerprints, and the very fateful, and aborted, drive home. By the time they were finished telling her about the Monte Carlo, Stanley Kovalev and the significance of the boxes in the living room, she was almost overwhelmed.

They were both looking at her with thinly veiled expectancy as the silence settled over the room. Her eyes travelled slowly over the boxes and piles of papers, documents and photographs before returning to her father's still startling hirsute face. A smile flickered over her features as she shook her head in disbelief once more. "I still can't get used to the beard…" she muttered softly then reached out and took his hand again. "You remembered that forger from so long ago?" There was genuine awe in her voice.

With a self-conscious smile, he nodded with a slight shrug.

Steve chuckled, "A mind like a steel trap."

Jeannie grinned at him then sobered. "And you're sure you two are okay?"

Mike pulled his right hand out of her grasp and raised two fingers. "Scouts honor!"

She laughed, relieved. "Okay, so, that can't be everything. What's next?"

The partners exchanged a very quick, and almost guilty, look. "Well," her father began slowly, "well, Steve and I have to take another little road trip tomorrow…"

"What?!" Her suddenly worried eyes snapped from one to the other. "I thought you were both on sick leave -?"

Mike put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Jeannie, sweetheart, relax… relax, please…" She bit her lip, her furious eyes not backing down. "We're just going upstate to do a little more digging, that's all…" he lied. Beside him, he felt more than saw Steve fidget slightly; he only hoped his daughter was too focused on him to notice. "And we have Rudy's blessing… And besides, Bill Tanner is coming with us and he's going to be doing all the driving and, well, basically, all the work too." He glanced up at his partner and smiled; Steve mirrored the look with a encouraging shrug.

Jeannie's eyes narrowed. "So you're not going to be doing anything dangerous?"

"What?" Mike snorted. "No, of course not. It's just to follow-up on a lead that we got from these boxes, that's all?"

She took a deep breath and held it. When she finally released it, he knew he had won her over.

"Hey," he said suddenly, "you want to come out and see the new car?"

She stared at him expressionlessly for another couple of beats then chuckled and shook her head, rolling her eyes. She knew she had been bested; it wasn't the first time and would certainly not be the last. "Okay…"

"Great!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Wait till you see it? It's a beaut."

As he opened the front door, she looked up at him. "So how many pizzas have you and Steve eaten in the past few days?"

"Pizzas?" Steve could hear Mike ask, his voice unusually high, as father and daughter disappeared down the concrete steps. "That was just the first one…"

Laughing, Steve shook his head as he looked down at the map and the black circle around the town of Dorris. His smile disappeared.


	31. Chapter 31

Taking a quick glance down the staircase to the darkened living room, Steve knocked quietly on the door. It was opened by a frowning Mike, who smiled in relief then backed up. Taking a step into the bedroom, Steve closed the door quietly behind him. Mike had retreated to the bed and sat; he looked tired.

"Are you okay?" Steve moved deeper into the room.

Mike looked up and nodded, trying to mask the discomfort. His right hand was resting lightly against the left side of his chest. "I was not expecting to have to do that tonight…" he chuckled dryly.

"Yeah…" Steve agreed quietly as he sat beside his partner on the bed. "Well, thank god she didn't come home any earlier…"

Mike nodded with a soft snort.

"Did you take your pills?"

The older man nodded.

"Okay," Steve exhaled as he stood up, "well, we better get to sleep if we're going to hit the road by 5." He paused by the door and looked back. "How heavy a sleeper is Jeannie anyway?"

She had insisted that Steve stay in her room for the night while she slept on the couch. He had mentioned that, now that they were finished with the Kovalev boxes, he was going to move back home after their road trip.

Mike shrugged with a soft laugh. "Who knows? There was a time I could've fired a cannon beside her bed when she was a kid and she wouldn't move but who knows now…"

Steve smiled. "Okay, so, fingers crossed we can get out the door before we have to endure another third degree…"

Mike rolled his eyes and chuckled.

# # # # #

Tanner looked across the front seat and smiled again. He was a having a hard time reconciling his boss's new look; the suit and fedora really didn't go with the beard.

Mike had seen the glance and looked over. "What?"

The black detective's smile disappeared and he raised his eyebrows innocently. "Humh?"

The lieutenant glared at him silently for a long beat then turned to look out the side window. In the back seat, there was a muffled laugh that quickly became a cough and clearing of a throat.

The tan LTD was flying up the 80. They had managed to leave the house without disturbing the sleeping figure on the living room couch, foregoing their morning coffee. Tanner was waiting in the running car at the curb.

Traffic was almost non-existent and, as they were going against the flow anyway, they were across the Bay Bridge and on the 80 heading north very quickly. They had stopped for coffees and donuts in a small diner just off the highway in Berkeley, eating in the car, determined to get to Yreka by noon.

Steve glanced down at the fairly thick file folder on the seat beside him then at the back of his partner's head. He took a deep breath, frowning.

He had noticed a change in the older man's demeanour from the moment they left the house this morning. The closer they got to Dorris, the quieter Mike was becoming. This was something he had noticed a few times before, usually with cases that had become exceedingly personal to the veteran detective. Most of the time it was just a way of focusing on the task at hand but, very rarely, it was masking a growing anger than would eventually need an outlet.

He was going to have to keep a very close eye on his partner today.

# # # # #

The LTD turned into the small parking lot outside the Yreka CHP office and all three detectives wasted no time entering the small red brick building. They were met by Sheriff John Crabb, who introduced them to Sergeant Julian Braddock and three officers, Dennis Martinez, Bill Ayer and Alvin Murtagh.

Crabb had all the paperwork ready and, within minutes, they were back in the LTD and following two CHP cruisers onto the two-lane blacktop on their way to Dorris.

The CHP drivers obviously knew the route very well and the Dodge Polarases flew down the bumpy country roads at speeds that made even Steve a little nervous, and Mike had assumed his usual position – foot on the dashboard, right hand on the ceiling over his head. But Tanner was more than up to the task and stayed very close behind.

As the scenery, remarkable only by the fact that houses and farms were few and far between, flew by, Steve managed to catch a glimpse of a street sign: Picard Road. His eyebrows rose; they were closer than he thought.

The Dodges braked suddenly and pulled over onto the right shoulder; Tanner followed suit. The five CHP officers exited their cars and approached the LTD.

"Ok, Lieutenant," Crabb said with a nod, "the Carlyle house is just around the bend up there." At the San Francisco detective's curious frown, he added quickly with a smile, "I had Bill here drive by yesterday to scope the place out – in his own car, mind you…"

Officer Ayer nodded and smiled. "They have a Toyota Corolla, light blue. It was in the driveway yesterday, and it's there right now."

Steve looked over the officer's shoulder and through the small bushes he could see the roof of a small house and a flash of blue in what he assumed was the driveway.

"Now this is how this is going to go down." Crabb's eyes were snapping between the three big city detectives. He was as grizzled a veteran as Mike and they knew he was every bit as good a cop as he looked. And he definitely looked the part. "We're going to go park in their driveway and block the car. Murtagh is going to go around the back of the house and the rest of us will go to the front door. We have both search and arrest warrants, as you are aware, and we are willing to break the door in if necessary, but we're hoping it's not going to come to that, of course."

The sheriff nodded at his men and they nodded back.

"You three," he pointed at them all individually to emphasize his point, "can follow in your car but you are to park on the shoulder at least a hundred feet from the driveway and you are to stay in your car until we have completed our search of the house and, hopefully, the arrest of Jeffrey Lonsdale, if he is indeed in the house."

"He is," Mike said flatly, and all eyes turned to him in varying states of surprise, Steve's the less so but he was well aware of the emotions his partner was holding in check.

Crabb met Mike's stare evenly for several long and silent seconds, then he nodded. "All right, then we'll get him." He turned to his own men. "Let's go."

Everyone returned to their cars. No one exchanged a word as the tan LTD followed the Dodge cruisers then parked the requested hundred feet from the end of the short driveway. The Carlyle house was a small, well-kept, beige stucco bungalow with a gravel driveway. Crabb's cruiser slammed to a stop diagonally on the gravel lane, close to the back bumper of the light blue Corolla, the five CHP officers bailing out quickly. The trunk of Ayer's cruiser popped open and the tall, broad-shouldered trooper reached in and removed an AR-15 while the others unholstered their sidearms.

As the San Francisco detectives watched, Murtagh disappeared behind the house while the other four trotted up to the front door. Braddock and Martinez already had their flashlights in their hands, and Braddock slammed the butt of his against the door. They could hear the loud thumping all the way out to the LTD.

"Sheriff's Department, open up!" Braddock yelled, then they waited, listening carefully in the ensuing silence. He raised his flashlight and pounded on the door again. "Sheriff's Department, open up!" he repeated even louder, if that was possible.

From the car, their San Francisco counterparts watched as the front door opened. They couldn't see into the house as Crabb, holding up the search warrant he had removed from his back pocket, led Braddock and Ayer quickly into the house. Martinez remained on the stoop.

Steve looked at his partner's profile; Mike was staring at the house, hardly blinking, his jaw clenched. Steve knew how much was riding on this for the older man, and he could feel his own heart begin to pound.

It seemed to take forever before Crabb reappeared at the front door. He stepped out onto the stoop and looked in the direction of the LTD. He spoke briefly to Martinez then stepped off the stoop and crossed briskly towards the unmarked Ford.

Resisting the urge to get out, Mike waited patiently for the sheriff to approach. Crabb got all the way to the car and leaned close to the passenger side window, his hands on the doorframe, before he spoke. "He's not in there and they're saying they don't have a son," he stated simply with a quick shake of his head.

Mike's eyes snapped to the house and his jaw clenched even tighter. "They do and he has to be."

Crabb took a deep breath. "I've having my boys go through the house again, but I'm telling you, Lieutenant, it's a small place, and he's not in there."

Mike stared at the house silently for a couple of long beats. Crabb's eyes slid to the back seat, looking at Steve through the side window. The younger man raised his eyebrows and tilted his head; Crabb blinked slowly and sighed softly. He looked at Mike again, who had not taken his eyes off the front of the house. "Like I said, they're going through the house again. I'll let you know if they find anything." He straightened up and headed back towards the house.

Silently, Mike watched him go. Steve glanced at the rearview mirror; Tanner was looking at him expressionlessly. He looked back at the house.

Twenty minutes later, Crabb and Braddock stepped out onto the stoop again, obviously engaged in conversation. Crabb had his head down and his hands on his hips; he kept taking furtive glances towards the LTD.

Suddenly Mike opened the door and got out of the car. Scrambling, Steve and Tanner did the same, following the tall detective as he strode determinedly down the road, across the driveway and up to the front door. Crabb and Braddock had seen him coming and they were braced for what they knew was coming.

The Sheriff turned to face the stone-faced detective who stepped up onto the stoop. Taking his hands off his hips, Crabb stated flatly, "He's not in there, Lieutenant. And they're still insisting they don't have a son."

"Like I said before, they do and he is," Mike countered, meeting the hard dark eyes evenly.

Braddock, who had been looking from one superior officer to the other, cleared his throat slightly. "Ah, Lieutenant, there's no sign there's anyone in this house except the couple that own it. There's no clothes, no toiletries, no sign that there's more food in the fridge than what an older couple would normally have…" he offered with a compassionate shrug.

Mike turned his hard blue eyes on Braddock and a tiny smile played across his lips. "I appreciate what you're saying, Sergeant, but, not to contradict you, that really doesn't mean anything. This guy has gotten very good over the years covering his tracks." He looked at Crabb again. "He's in there. I know it."

The sheriff stared at the determined San Francisco detective for several long beats; nobody moved. Then he very slightly dropped his head and nodded once.

Steve saw Mike's stiff posture ease almost imperceptibly and he felt his own tight muscles relax.

"I want to go in," Mike said suddenly and every eye snapped to his face again.

Crabb stared at him for a long beat before he took a step back and gestured at the front door. "Be my guest," he said quietly, then glanced at Steve, eyebrows on the rise.

With a tilt of his head and a facial shrug. Steve followed his partner over the threshold and into the small house.


	32. Chapter 32

Steve followed his partner over the threshold into the small living room. The Carlyles, looking very much the older version of the couple they had seen in the photo in Kovalev's file, were sitting side by side on the green tufted sofa. They were holding hands, staring at the police officers milling about their house from under lowered knit brows.

Crabb glanced at them then faced Mike again. "They haven't said a word since they told us they don't have a son and they have no idea what we're talking about."

The San Francisco detective studied them for a long beat but didn't make a move to approach them. He looked at the sheriff. "I'll talk to them later." He moved through the living room into the kitchen; it was small but clean and neat as a pin. Even the dishes were done. His partner and the sheriff waiting by the door, he stood in the centre of the room and looked carefully at everything.

Then, without a word, he left the kitchen, brushing past Steve and Crabb, stepping briefly back into the living room to head down the hall. There were four open doors, two on the left and two on the right: a bathroom, laundry room and two bedrooms. One of the bedrooms had been turned into a sewing room, with a brand new Singer and an ironing board.

Mike looked in all four rooms; the closets in the bedroom were open. He turned to Crabb. "That door at the back of the kitchen beside the fridge. Does that lead to a basement?"

"A basement of sorts," the sheriff nodded with a half-shrug. "It's more of an underground shed. We've been through it twice, there's nobody down there - "

"I want to see it," Mike said flatly, striding out the door and back down the hallway into the kitchen. Braddock, who was standing in front of the Carlyles in the living room, watched the lieutenant almost charge by. His eyes snapped to Crabb, who glanced at him with raised eyebrows as he followed the homicide detective back into the kitchen.

The lieutenant opened the white wooden door on the far side of the fridge. There was a dark opening, lit only by a weak amber bulb on the ceiling with a long string attached to the pull-chain. There wasn't a staircase, just an old steep wooden ladder nailed to the beam holding up the kitchen floor.

Mike stared down into the dark recess and exhaled loudly in frustration. He knew he couldn't, and shouldn't, attempt the ladder with only one good arm. He took a step back and looked at his partner; Steve crossed immediately to his side and looked down into the basement.

Realizing Mike's dilemma, Steve patted him briefly on the shoulder as he moved past him and turned to start down the ladder. "Are you okay to do it?" Mike asked, frowning in concern.

As he stepped onto the first rung, Steve looked up and smiled reassuringly. "I'll take my time, don't worry." He did, eventually disappearing into the darkened basement. Crabb and Martinez quickly followed.

Crabb took his flashlight out the second his feet hit the dirt floor; Steve, who was brushing the dirt from the ladder off his hands, nodded in appreciation when Martinez offered him his own flashlight. Snapping it on, Steve moved the beam around the large, cluttered, dirt-walled room. There were wooden shelves against two of the walls, loaded with everything one would expect to see in a house in the country. Many of the shelves were stocked with non-perishable groceries and other household items like toilet paper and laundry detergent.

There was a large freezer in one corner. Steve picked his way over the uneven floor and opened it; it was filled with frozen food. He reached in and moved a few items then closed the lid and took a step back.

He ran his flashlight against the back wall. There was a large stack of wooden doors, windows, sheets of plywood and pallets leaning against the wall. He looked at Crabb. "Did you check behind there?"

The sheriff nodded. "There's a small cold storage behind it. Yeah, we checked it out. It's empty. They said they used to use it but they don't need it anymore."

Nodding, Steve played the flashlight beam over the remainder of the damp and musty basement, satisfied there was nothing down there. He glanced towards the ladder; he almost regretted having to tell his partner that the odds were now pretty good that Lonsdale wasn't here.

With a grateful nod, he handed the flashlight back to Martinez and crossed to the ladder. It was more painful climbing up than it had been going down, and he was gritting his teeth by the time he made it up to the kitchen.

Mike had retreated to the middle of the room and he was looking around, frowning. He knew when Steve hadn't said anything that the basement was a dead end, but he was determined not to give up the search just yet. He had a feeling there was something he was missing, and he was damned if he was going to leave the house before he was satisfied they had done everything they could.

He watched as the younger man stepped up onto the kitchen floor, grimacing. He frowned and took a step closer. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly and Steve nodded, patting his partner's arm reassuringly once more.

Crabb and Martinez climbed up the ladder and joined them in the kitchen. Mike had returned to the centre of the room and was looking around again, a slight frown on his strong features. Steve watched him closely, knowing there was something his partner was trying to work out.

Mike took a step towards the counter and stood there for a silent beat, looking at two single light switches with separate plates on the wall under the cupboard. He reached out and flicked the right one up; an overhead light came on near the back door. He turned it off and reached for the second one and flipped it up as well. Nothing happened. Frowning, he flipped it on and off several times. Still nothing.

He turned slowly to Martinez. Very quietly he said, "Officer, could you ask Mrs. Carlyle to come in here, please?"

"Yes, sir," Martinez said with a curt nod and strode briskly from the room.

There was a sharp knock on the back door and all three cops jumped slightly, looking at the door. They could see Murtagh in the small window, gesturing wildly. Crabb crossed to the door and opened it.

"Did you just turn something on and off?" Murtagh asked excitedly.

Crabb frowned, glancing over his shoulder at Mike, who was still standing near the counter. "The lieutenant flicked a light switch a couple of times. Why?"

Murtagh grinned and waved at them. "Check this out," he urged, stepping backwards away from the door and moving quickly to his left. Crabb, with another glance at Mike, who was suddenly right behind him, followed Murtagh into the backyard. Steve was trailing slightly behind his partner.

Murtagh was pointing at a small exhaust fan protruding from the wall about a foot above the ground. It wasn't running. "That," the state trooper said eagerly, "was going on and off just now, like someone was flipping a switch."

Mike, who was staring at the exhaust fan, looked up at the young officer and smiled slightly. "I was…" With a quick, almost triumphant look at his partner, who smiled with a soft snort, Mike strode back into the kitchen. Braddock and the Carlyles were standing with Martinez in the centre of the room.

His face an unreadable mask, Mike crossed to the counter. He pointed at the light switch as he faced the older woman. "What's that for?"

Her eyes, which had been fixed on his, her face expressionless, turned slowly to where he was pointing. "It's the switch for the light above the back door," she said simply with a slight, annoyed shrug.

Mike stared at her for a long beat then looked towards the back door and the switch plate right beside it. "Steve," he said softly. The younger man stepped closer to the back door, opening it so they could see the fixture, then he flicked the switch. The light went on. Looking back at the group standing in the centre of the kitchen, he turned it off.

Staring at Mrs. Carlyle, Mike reached out and flipped the switch under the counter. Nothing happened. In the ensuing uncomfortable silence, Steve closed the back door.

"What is it really hooked up to, Mrs. … Carlyle?" Mike asked coldly, emphasizing the name.

"I told you, it's for the back door. It hasn't worked in years." It was a feeble attempt at an explanation and she was trying her best to sell it, everyone knew.

Mike looked past her to the husband, who was looking down and chewing on the inside of his cheek. After several long, tense seconds, Mike looked at Braddock. "Take them back into the living room, please, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir." Braddock started to usher the Carlyles out of the kitchen.

Mike turned to Crabb. The sheriff raised his eyebrows with a sharp, impressed snort then turned to the ladder and started back down to the basement. "Get Alvin and Bill in here," he barked to Martinez as he disappeared down the ladder.

As Martinez opened the back door, Mike turned to his partner. "I'm going down," he said flatly, stepping towards the basement door.

"Wait, no," Steve said suddenly, reaching out to grab the older man's right arm and pull him to a stop, "no, you can't do it with one hand, it's too –"

"I can do it, Steve," Mike turned on him almost angrily, his eyes flashing. There was a tense beat then he sighed softly. "I have to…"

After a long silent moment, Steve nodded. "Okay, but I'm going down before you –"

"No, you aren't," Martinez said loudly from behind Mike, and they both looked at him, startled. "Sorry, but, ah, you aren't up to doing that either," the big CHP officer said with a smile, nodding at Steve. "I'll go down first and, sir," he looked at Mike, "you come down after me and I'll spot you, okay?"

Smiling gratefully, Mike nodded. As Martinez crossed to the ladder, Mike looked at his partner and winked.

It took longer than normal, with Mike having to quickly drop his right hand from one rung to the next while keeping his balance, but with Martinez on the step below him, he managed to work his way to the basement, only slightly out of breath. When Steve dropped the last two steps to the dirt floor, his eyes snapped to his partner, who nodded with a brief smile.

All eyes on him, Mike walked to the middle of the dark, crammed cavern, facing the back wall. He immediately noticed the stack of plywood and pallets. "What's behind there?"

Crabb took a step towards him. "A small cold storage they don't use anymore. We opened it – it's empty."

As the others watched, Mike's head tilted up slightly as he looked at the area where the dirt wall met the ceiling. He looked back at the stacked wood again. "I want to see," he said evenly, keeping his gaze on the wall.

Crabb, with an eyebrows-raised glance at his officers, nodded, and Martinez, Ayers and Murtagh crossed quickly to the back wall and began to move the pile again.

Steve, his eyes snapping back and forth between Mike and the officers working quickly, took a step closer to his partner, who was standing perfectly still, watching and waiting.

The door to the cold storage started to appear. When Murtagh moved the last large sheet of plywood, Mike crossed deliberately to the door and opened it. The damp musty smell was almost overwhelming. It was pitch black. Without turning, Mike held out his right hand and Martinez, who was hovering slightly behind the lieutenant, snapped on his flashlight and put it in the detective's hand.

Mike ran the light slowly over the walls of the small, empty room. He was halfway down the right side wall when he stopped, hesitated, then glanced at Martinez. The CHP officer took a step closer, leaned forward and stared where the beam was pointing.

Straightening up slowly, Martinez took a half-step back and turned to look at the sheriff. "There's a door," he mouthed.


	33. Chapter 33

No one moved for a long second as Martinez's mouthed words sunk in. Then, very slowly, Mike handed the flashlight to the CHP officer and quietly stepped out of the small room to stand beside his partner.

Steve could hear the older man breathing heavily through his mouth and knew he was trying to slow his suddenly pounding heart. His own blood was thudding in his ears and his mouth had gone dry. He reached up put his hand on his partner's back. Mike turned his head slightly to catch his eye, and the older man nodded softly.

They both knew the next few moments were out of their hands; they had no jurisdiction here, and any further action had to be taken by the sheriff and his men.

As Crabb and the others began to move into the cold storage, Mike grabbed the sheriff's arm and leaned closer. "Don't forget he has my gun, at the very least," Mike whispered and Crabb nodded.

The four CHP officers crowded into the small dank room, three of them unholstering and raising their sidearms. Ayers slipped the AR-15 he had slung down his back up into a firing position and aimed it at the door. Martinez, who had been working silently to find the edges of the door, had uncovered a small ring bolted halfway up on the left. He lifted the ring to show Crabb, who nodded.

The sheriff, after a quick glance at the San Francisco detectives, looked at his men and nodded to himself; they were all ready, he knew. "Jeffrey Lonsdale, this is the Sheriff's Department! There are four officers out here with .38's and an AR-15! You're out-gunned, son! If you don't want us to kill you in front of your parents, you better give yourself up!"

The timber of his voice, and his words, hung in the air in the ensuing silence. Everyone was frozen, listening. There was no sound.

"Jeffrey Lonsdale, I'm gonna count to three, son, and then we're gonna open this door – and if we see any sign of a gun, we're gonna cut you in two, you understand me!"

There was still no sound. Crabb looked at the detectives again. Mike didn't move; it was not his call to make and they all knew it. Inhaling deeply, the sheriff nodded at his men. Martinez reached out and grabbed the ring; Ayers, the AR-15 still at his shoulder and his eye on the scope, stepped to where the door would open and nodded at his colleague.

After a brief hesitation, Martinez threw all hjs weight backwards, still unsure if the door was possibly locked from the inside, almost half-anticipating to be jolted to a stop. The door popped open and Ayers took a step forward then froze. Crabb, who was right behind him, his revolver out in front, pushed past his officer and disappeared behind the now open, dirt-covered door.

Steve was watching his partner peripherally; Mike, his eyes glued to the open door, swallowed nervously, holding his breath.

"Lieutenant!" Crabb's voice reached them from behind the door.

Mike stepped forward quickly, trying not to jog; Martinez moved back to let him pass. Steve was right behind him. The San Francisco detectives stopped beside Ayers, who still had the rifle scope to his eye.

Crabb was standing just inside the door, holstering his .38. On his knees, his hands high above his head, his left wrist wrapped in tensor bandages, was Jeffrey Lonsdale.

Mike stared at the downturned head, the salt-and-pepper hair, the arms in the air, and took a deep, unsteady breath. He glanced up briefly, clocking the alarming sight of a large, well-lit, fully furnished room, before his attention returned to the shaking form kneeling on the linoleum of the tiled floor.

With a cold half smile, Crabb kneeled in front of Lonsdale and looked at the thin, bearded face staring unfocused at the floor. "Jeffrey Lonsdale, aka Daniel Harrison, you are under arrest for felony flight to avoid prosecution. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…"

Mike listened without moving as the sheriff finished reciting the Miranda Warning to the unresponsive Lonsdale. He knew that the only charge they could bring right now was felony flight from the scene of the accident; the rape, murder and flight from the country charges would come later. They could also add a theft charge for Mike's service revolver if it was found in the house.

Crabb got back to his feet and looked at Martinez with a slight nod. The tall Hispanic CHP officer snapped the handcuffs off the back of his belt and stepped behind their prisoner then paused, remembering the ladder. With an annoyed snort, he stuffed the cuffs in his pants pocket and grabbed Lonsdale's right elbow, pulling him awkwardly to his feet.

Mike and Steve backed to the centre of the room as Martinez propelled a reluctant Lonsdale towards the ladder. The recaptured fugitive continued to stare straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the two San Francisco detectives as he was pushed by them. Mike's stare almost burned a hole in the side of Lonsdale's head as he passed.

Murtagh, who had holstered his .38, climbed up to the kitchen first, turning and looking back down to the basement and taking his revolver out again. Martinez gestured to Ayers with his head, nodding at Lonsdale then Mike. Ayers, frowning at first then realizing what his colleague was trying to silently say, slung the rifle down his back and gestured for Lonsdale to proceed him up the ladder.

Awkwardly, only able to use the fingertips of his left hand, the erstwhile fugitive made his way slowly up the rungs, well aware of the man standing above him with the barrel of a service revolver pointed at his head.

Martinez turned to Mike and raised his eyebrows questioningly. The older detective smiled gratefully with a slight, sharp nod. "In a minute, Officer," he said quietly as he turned and headed back into the cold storage.

Crabb was standing in the middle of the hidden room, his hands on his hips and a look of stunned disbelief on his weathered face. He glanced at Mike and Steve as they joined him. "Can you believe this?" the sheriff said softly, awe in his voice.

Steve moved to the fridge and opened it; it was filled, the bottom shelf stacked with cans of Guinness. There was a full-sized stove, a TV and a large fan. The smell of bacon hung in the air. Against the wall on the far side of a double bed was a bureau and a small, filled bookcase, and recessed into that wall was a thin wooden door. Steve crossed around the bed to the door and opened it; Mike watched as his head went back sharply. The younger man looked over his shoulder. "There's one of those new composting toilets and…" he shrugged easily, "and a shower, I guess…" He closed the door and returned to the others. "I wonder how long they've had this ready…"

Mike was nodding, his eyes still roving around the room that was at least half as large as the basement itself. "It looks like they thought of everything…" he added quietly.

"That's for sure," Crabb nodded, still sounding impressed but trying not to be. "It's well put together. I wonder who designed and built it?" he asked almost rhetorically.

"My bet's on the father," Steve snorted dryly, glancing at his partner. "How did he make his money?"

"Engineering and construction," Mike said quietly and the other two snorted.

"And I have a feeling ol' Dad up there ain't as feeble as he's making himself out to be," Crabb groused, shaking his head angrily. He looked at Mike. "We'll seal the house and grounds, of course, Lieutenant, and go through everything with a fine-tooth comb. I'd, ah, I'd like to look for that gun of yours but I want to get everything photographed before we touch anything…in case they accuse us of planting…" Mike nodded in agreement. "I'll keep Sergeant Braddock and Officer Murtagh here with the parents. When we get Lonsdale back to the station, I'll get in touch with the D.A. and get those warrants for the parents. They're expecting my call, believe me." On Mike's frown, he continued with a shrug. "He wouldn't sign them until I could tell him without a doubt that Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle were actually Mr. and Mrs. Lonsdale. And I can do that now, so…" He shrugged with a frustrated sigh.

Mike smiled in commiseration. "It's okay, Sheriff. I understand the bureaucracy."

"I bet you do," Crabb laughed. "Anyway, let's get you two back upstairs and we'll get Lonsdale back to the station, finish the paperwork and… then you can take him home." He smiled. "How does that sound?"

Mike, who had finally started to let himself relax, exhaled loudly and smiled. "That sounds perfect, Sheriff."

"Ah, why don't you start calling me John, okay?" Crabb chuckled, sticking out his right hand.

Mike laughed. "Okay. And, ah, it's not Lieutenant, it's Mike." He shook the sheriff's hand.

"Steve," the junior partner introduced himself with a warm smile, shaking Crabb's hand as well. "Better late than never, I guess, hunh?" he chuckled.

"Okay, gentlemen, let's get out of here, shall we?" the sheriff sighed heavily as he crossed the dirt floor to the ladder and started up.

Laughing quietly, Mike began to follow. As he passed Martinez, he pointed at him and smiled. "Dennis, right?"

A grin split the big man's face. "Yes, sir!"

Mike's laugh got a little louder; he knew the officer wouldn't take the liberty of calling him by his first name. He got to the foot of the ladder and looked up; Steve could see a brief flash of trepidation wash over his face. Martinez walked up behind him.

"Ready to go?" he asked and the older man nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Mike stepped up onto the first rung; it was going to be a lot harder going up with one hand that it had been coming down. He balanced himself then quickly took his right hand off the rung in front of his face to reach for the next one, having to push himself backwards slightly, almost losing his balance, to be able to grasp the rung above. He felt Martinez's firm hand on his back in support; it was reassuring but Mike knew if he really lost his balance, Martinez would not be able to stop his fall.

Their progression up the ladder was slow and, for Mike, increasingly painful. He knew it had been a mistake to go down in the first place, but he also knew he'd had no choice; this was his case and his hunch.

There were 10 rungs up to the kitchen floor, he knew, and he was counting. When he was standing on the fourth rung, preparing to step up onto the fifth, he felt a hand over his and looked up. Crabb was kneeling on the kitchen floor, leaning over the ladder and reaching down; the sheriff smiled. Mike tried to return the look but the growing pain was making it difficult. Crabb frowned, worried.

Gritting his teeth, Mike stepped onto the fifth rung. He was close enough to the top now that Crabb could put his hand on the back of his neck to give him more stability. With the sheriff helping from above and Martinez below, he finally made it to the kitchen floor. Crabb helped him turn when his feet were on the second rung to sit on the ledge, his feet dangling into the open maw of the dirt basement, his right hand pressed against the left side of his chest. He let his head drop forward and closed his eyes; Crabb kept a securing hand on his right shoulder as Martinez climbed onto the kitchen floor, followed as rapidly as possible by an increasingly worried Steve.

With a furrowed brow, Crabb watched the younger man as he stepped up onto the linoleum. He knew the inspector was battling broken ribs as well. Martinez took Steve's arm as he stood, his frown asking the question. "I'm okay," Steve said quickly and quietly, then knelt beside his partner.

Mike's head was still forward and his eyes closed. Crabb had a firm grip on him now to prevent him from falling into the cellar.

"Are you okay?" Steve whispered, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

Mike raised his head and opened his eyes, turning slightly to look at the younger man, then his eyes closed and his head fell back. Crabb scrambled backwards, lowering the suddenly unconscious lieutenant to the floor.


	34. Chapter 34

"Mike!" Steve leaned over his unmoving partner, his hand against the older man's bearded cheek, staring in alarm at the closed eyes. "Mike!"

"Alvin!" he heard Crabb bellow, tension in his voice. There was a thudding sound from the direction of the living room and Murtagh charged into the kitchen, his eyes widening in alarm when he spotted the San Francisco detective lying on the floor. "Call for an ambulance!"

"Yes, sir!" Murtagh barked, spinning on his heel and hightailing it out of the room.

"No…" came a low moan from the floor and every eye in the room snapped in Mike's direction. Though his eyes were still closed, his lips were moving. As they watched, he took a short, sharp breath and his eyes opened. "No, I don't need an ambulance… I'm okay…" He focused on his partner, whose face was hovering above his own, and tried a slight smile. "Honest… I'm okay… I just need to lie here for a few minutes… okay…?"

Steve stared at him for several long seconds then looked at Crabb. After another silent beat, Crabb turned to Martinez and nodded. The CHP officer scrambled to his feet and charged out of the room. "Alvin!"

Mike had closed his eyes again, a soft smile lingering on his lips. He reached for Steve's arm with his right hand and wrapped his fingers around the younger man's wrist reassuringly.

Steve looked at Crabb and rolled his eyes, exhaling in relief. Crabb smiled, shaking his head, and got slowly to his feet, patting the younger man on the shoulder as he stood.

"We'll, ah… you guys just relax and we'll get things moving here, okay?"

Steve nodded. "Thanks…"

Winking, Crabb disappeared into the living room, and he could be heard quietly giving orders to his men.

Steve sat on the floor, making himself more comfortable. He felt Mike's grip tighten around his wrist and the blue eyes opened again.

"Sorry about that," the older man said quietly with a dry chuckle. "It just hurt so damn much for a second there." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to groan.

"You got your pain pills with you?"

Mike nodded carefully. "My coat pocket." He moved his head slightly to the right.

Steve reached down with his free hand and rooted in the pocket, finally getting a grip on the small plastic bottle and pulling it out. "I'll get a glass of water –" he began, starting to get to his feet but the grip on his wrist tightened and the older man shook his head.

"In a minute," Mike hissed through clenched teeth. "I don't want to have to sit up just now, okay…?"

"Okay…" Steve agreed softly, putting the pill bottle in his own pocket. He could hear heavy footsteps in the other room and knew Crabb and his officers were securing the house and preparing to take the youngest Lonsdale out to their cars.

"Listen, ah, Mike…" Steve began quietly, "maybe we should rethink bringing Lonsdale back to The City today –"

The blue eyes snapped open again. "We're taking him home today. I'm okay. Are you?"

Steve frowned. "To drive?" Mike nodded. "Yeah… yeah, I'm okay to drive."

Mike nodded again. "Then Lonsdale can sit in the back with Bill…" His brow furrowed. "Where is Bill?"

Steve's head went back slightly and he frowned. "I think we left him on the front porch. He must be –" He had looked towards the kitchen entrance and froze. Tanner was standing in the doorway, staring at them worriedly. Steve smiled slightly, nodding at Mike. "He's okay," he mouthed, watching as his colleague's stiff posture relaxed.

Tanner quietly stepped closer, unable to erase the lines of concern from his face.

Steve looked down at his partner, who had closed his eyes again, and studied him for several silent seconds. "Bill's here," he said softly. "You want to try sitting up?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Mike nodded. Steve looked at Tanner, who knelt beside his colleague and, with Steve gently supporting his partner's bandaged left shoulder and Tanner taking his right arm, they helped the older man sit up. Mike's eyes were squeezed shut and he was holding his breath, which he released when he was vertical. He dropped his head forward and chuckled slightly before looking at his partner from the corner of his eye. "Well, I'm glad that's over…"

Steve smiled, reluctant to take his hands away, gently patting Mike on the back.

Exhaling loudly again, the lieutenant looked at Tanner. "So, I guess you heard we found Lonsdale, hunh?"

"Ah, yeah," Tanner chuckled, "yeah, I did. Ah, congratulations."

"Thanks," Mike acknowledged with a laugh. "So, ah, before we leave you gotta go down there," he nodded towards the basement, "and check out the hidden room. You're not gonna believe it."

Tanner grinned. "Yeah, I'll do that."

Steve raised himself from his knees into a crouched position. "You ready to get up?"

Mike looked at him and nodded. "Yeah…" He didn't sound too convinced.

"You're gonna have to scoot back a bit," Steve instructed, and Tanner released Mike's right arm so he could use his good hand to push himself away from the edge of the drop. Then, with an inspector on either side, the lieutenant got slowly to his feet, both of them continuing to provide support while he caught and maintained his balance.

Steve was staring at his partner's face, his brow furrowed. "Okay…?"

Mike eventually nodded. "Yeah… yeah, I'm good…" He smiled reassuringly at his partner then Tanner. "I'm okay… thanks…"

Steve released his partner's arm and crossed quickly to the sink. He opened a nearby cupboard, finding a small glass, and turned on the tap. He gave the glass to Tanner to hold while he fished the pill bottle out of his pocket and opened it.

Mike took the pill, put it in his mouth and took the glass. He made a face as he swallowed and handed the glass back to Tanner. "Yuck, well water… Tastes like iron…"

Both younger men chuckled; Tanner smelled the water and recoiled with a comical grimace before he put it on the counter.

Still smiling, Steve turned and began to lead them out of the kitchen, Tanner following close behind his boss, his eyes glued to the back of the older man's head.

Crabb looked over as they appeared in the doorway and a spontaneous smile split his face. Mike met his eyes and smiled softly with a slight nod as he followed his partner deeper into the room, the black inspector staying very close behind the lieutenant.

Jeffrey Lonsdale was no longer in the room; Murtagh and Martinez had already taken him to the car. Crabb, Braddock and Ayers, who still had his rifle in his hand, were standing near the front door; the Lonsdales, their heads down, once more holding hands, were sitting on the sofa. Mike glared at them as he moved past on the way to the front door.

Crabb touched the lieutenant's arm lightly when the San Francisco detectives joined the CHP officers. Mike nodded his thanks. The sheriff looked at his men, who nodded quickly, then he opened the door and stepped out onto the stoop, beckoning the others to join him with a tilt of his head.

When Tanner stepped over the threshold, Ayers closed the front door behind him. Crabb faced the SF trio, gesturing with his head towards the cruiser parked diagonally across the driveway. Martinez was standing near the closed back door; they could see Murtagh and Lonsdale in the back seat.

"Ah, listen, Mike," Crabb started slowly, meeting the suddenly hooded blue eyes evenly, "I'm gonna have Martinez and Murtagh bring Lonsdale back south for you –"

Mike was already shaking his head. "No, we can –"

"Excuse me," Crabb cut him off sharply, "but I believe your badges say San Francisco, don't they? Mine says California." He stopped and his stern visage suddenly broke into a wry smile. "Look, I know how important this is to you, believe me. That's why I'm insisting," he tread on the word lightly, "that you let my boys take Lonsdale back down there for you in one of our cars, with you following of course, and deliver him for you." He glanced at Steve and Tanner. "I think that would make us, all of us, feel a lot easier about everything… don't you?"

He had put the ball back in Mike's court, knowing the big city detective would feel cornered and out-gunned, to mix metaphors. He was having a hard time trying not to smirk, watching the lieutenant working through the pros and cons of the proposition and trying to find a way around it.

With a loud and frustrated sigh, Mike's eyes slid from Crabb to his partner. Steve stared back at him; it was obvious how he felt. Realizing he was not about to receive any back-up there, he looked at Crabb again. "How soon can we leave?" he asked simply and the three other faces erupted in relived smiles. He felt Steve pat him on the back as the younger man stepped off the small concrete landing, shaking his head as he exchanged knowing looks with Tanner.

"Well," Crabb said slowly, grinning, "like I told you, I'm gonna leave Julian and Bill here with the parents. I'll head back to Yreka with Dennis and Alvin… and Lonsdale, of course, then I'll get them to make sure your paperwork's in order and then you guys can all hit the road, and I'll get the warrants and come back here and we'll arrest the parents." He raised his eyebrows. "And then we'll figure out where they're gonna go… From what I've read in that file of yours, and I've only skimmed it mind you, they haven't been in your city for a long, long time. And even though their original… transgression was no doubt perpetrated in San Francisco, everything else they've done since then was done up here…" He shrugged. "So, ah, I'm suggesting we let our D.A.'s sort all that out, what do you say?"

Mike, who had been listening without reaction while the sheriff spoke, hesitated for a few seemingly very long seconds before he finally nodded slightly. "That sounds like a very good idea, John." He glanced at the CHP patrol car. "I got what I came for, and I'm satisfied with that."

Crabb grinned slowly. Mike could feel Steve's eyes burning into him from behind, and he knew the younger man had not been expecting that concession. Mike smiled to himself; it was nice to know he could still surprise his partner once in awhile. He nodded towards the car. "I'd like to sit down for a bit," he said to his partner then, as he turned to take a step off the porch, he turned to Tanner. "Steve and I'll be okay. Why don't you have a look at the basement – in the cold storage," he said with a smile, nodding back into the house.

Tanner's eyes lit up. "Yeah, sure." He looked at Steve and grinned. "Be right back." He disappeared into the house.

Crabb watched him go with a smile. "Ah, to be young and have that much energy again, eh?" he laughed as he turned to Mike and Steve. "You guys take it easy and we'll get things sorted in here and be right out." He went back into the house.

Mike stepped carefully off the porch and started to follow his partner to the LTD, which was still parked on the shoulder up the road. As he came abreast of the Dodge Polaras he stopped. Jeffrey Lonsdale's head was down, his right wrist handcuffed to the mesh screen that separated the front from the back. Murtagh was beside him.

Mike stared at the sullen profile through the closed window, letting the increasingly tense silence lengthen until the recaptured fugitive finally looked up. There was no expression in his eyes. Neither man blinked for several long seconds, then Lonsdale snorted and dropped his head once more.

Slowly Mike turned and started towards the LTD again. Steve, who had been waiting quietly nearby, fell into step beside him. They walked down the driveway and along the side of the road in silence. When they got to the car, Steve opened the passenger side front door and stepped back.

With a soft smile, Mike opened the back door and carefully got in. As Steve closed both doors, he put his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. He could hear the far door open and his partner slip into the seat beside him. The door closed. A few seconds later he felt a hand come to rest lightly on his leg and a gentle squeeze. He couldn't hide his contented sigh or the affectionate smile that curled his lips.


	35. Chapter 35

It was ten minutes to midnight when she heard the key in the lock and the tumblers click. She was half-asleep, the volume of the TV low but still audible as she tried her best to stay awake and watch the late movie. Looking towards the noise, she pushed the blanket away, slipping her feet into her slippers as she stood, pulling the dressing gown tighter as she padded to the door.

It opened slowly. Her father, the fedora low over his forehead, his tie and collar loosened, stepped with obvious weariness over the threshold. Steve was right behind him, his equally tired eyes glued to the back of his partner's downturned head. He saw Jeannie first and tried an encouraging smile.

She reached out for her father, putting a gentle hand on his right arm, and he looked up almost in alarm. He smiled sluggishly with a breathless chuckle. "Hey, I wasn't expecting you to still be up…"

Jeannie briefly turned her worried frown on Steve, who looked back with a furrowed and obviously concerned brow. "I wasn't expecting you to be so late…" She increased the pressure of her hand on her father's arm. "Are you okay?"

With a soft snort, he looked at her sideways as he started to move deeper into the living room, Steve right behind him. "Yeah, I'm okay," he tried to sound confident, failing miserably. "It turned out to be a longer day than I thought, that's all."

She watched him slowly approach the armchair, bending forward to put his right hand on the arm for balance as he turned and dropped heavily onto the recliner. Exhaling loudly in a gasp, unable to hide his discomfort, he laid the back of his head against the seat, the fedora dropping low over his closed eyes.

Steve, hovering nearby, turned to look into her now obviously worried eyes. He smiled grimly. "It was a long but very good day," he said quietly.

Still looking at her father, she glanced at the younger man and asked, "You got him?"

Both men nodded. Steve glanced at his partner and smiled. "Yeah, we got him. He was hiding in an… apartment they'd built in his parents' basement."

She frowned. "An apartment?"

Mike chuckled. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow…" he said quietly through a yawn, not opening his eyes.

Steve leaned over the armchair. "Are you okay?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Okay, good." Steve straightened up then turned for the door. As he passed the young woman, he said over his shoulder, "I'll be by first thing in the morning to –"

"Where are you going?" she stopped him with a hand on his arm and he looked at her with a frown.

"Home," he said simply.

"Now?"

He stared at her blankly for a long silent second then glanced at Mike, who was looking at him from under the lowered hat brim. "Ah… yeah…?"

"No, you're not," she said flatly. "You're still in pain, you can't fool me, and there's no way I'm going to let you go home by yourself in that condition. Besides, your stuff is still up in my bedroom, remember?"

Any notion that he was going to argue evaporated quickly when she dug her nails into his forearm to emphasize her point. Still holding him, she glanced at the sofa, where the blanket and pillow lay haphazardly on the cushions. "I'm fine on the couch for another night or two…"

"I told ya so…" came the quiet singsong voice from the armchair and both younger people looked in that direction. Mike was smiling smugly.

Frowning, Jeannie looked from her father to Steve and back again. "You told him what…?" she asked flatly, her eyes narrowing. It was a look the men knew only too well.

Mike's dancing eyes slid from his daughter to his partner. Jeannie turned her head. Steve cleared his throat and smirked. "He said if you were awake, you wouldn't let me leave."

Her eyes narrowing even more, Jeannie swiveled her head slowly towards her father. If it was possible, his grin got even smuggier. "Oh, he did, did he?" She looked back at Steve and he couldn't tell what was going through her mind. "He's a pretty smart guy, my dad, don't you think…?"

Steve opened his mouth to retort but she cut him off.

"When it comes to other people," she continued, her voice tinged with pride, concern and sarcasm as she looked at Mike again. "But he sometimes has blinders on when it comes to his own limitations." She stared at him expressionlessly, letting her words sink in.

Mike's smile disappeared. He took a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes. "I'm fine, Jeannie –"

"Like hell you are!" she snapped, watching her father's eyes widen and his mouth slam shut. "Look at you… You look like hell. You're so exhausted you can barely stand, and you're obviously still in a lot of pain. You're so… obstinate about making sure everybody else is okay but you don't do the same for yourself… God…!" She looked down, biting her lip, trying not to cry from sheer frustration. It was something she'd had to battle all her adult life and she was really beginning to lose her patience.

Alarmed, Mike looked at his partner, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged helplessly, then back to his daughter. He started to sit up. "Jeannie, I'm okay, sweetheart, I really –"

"Oh, Mike," she raised her head, pinning him again with her anger, "don't lie to me, please… I know you. I know when you're hurting and I know when you're okay… and you're not okay." She paused and took a deep breath. "Don't lie to me, Daddy…" she said quietly, and his heart broke.

His eyes drifted down, away from her accusatory stare, and he bit his lower lip. He knew she was right. After a couple of very long, tense seconds he whispered, "I'm sorry…"

Her posture relaxed slightly but she stayed silent, staring at his downturned head.

Eventually his head came up again. "You're right, I'm not okay… I admit that. And I know I overdid it today. But it was something I had to do, sweetheart, and you know that too… You know that's who I am." He shrugged slightly with a wry, self-deprecating smile. "But I'll make you a promise, right now, that I won't leave this house until I'm healthy enough to go back to work." A warm smile lit his face and he raised his eyebrows. "Does that work for you?"

She stared at him silently for several long tense beats without expression, biting her bottom lip, then a slow smile began to build. Eventually she started to nod. "Yeah…" she said almost breathlessly, "yeah, that works for me…" She crossed to the armchair, leaning forward and putting her hands on the sides of his face, planting a kiss on his lips. She pulled back slightly and stared at him, keeping her hands on his face, her brow furrowing. "But you have to shave that beard off, the sooner the better."

Mike grinned. "Consider it gone," he chuckled. "But in the morning, okay? I don't feel up to it right now."

She kissed him again then straightened and turned to Steve, who had, very adroitly, kept his mouth shut throughout. She smiled at him warmly. "So, you look marginally better than he does," she nodded over her shoulder, "but I think you need a few days off too. Am I right?"

He inhaled deeply, trying not to smile too broadly, and started to shake his head. "Jeannie, I'm fine…" he began slowly and she charged towards him rapidly, raising her right fist like she was going to punch him in the ribs. He flinched, bringing his forearms up quickly to block the blow, the effort making him gasp in pain then grab his chest with his right hand.

She dropped her fist, staring at him with a furrowed brow, a frustrated sigh escaping her pursed lips. "I thought so…" She looked over her shoulder at her father, who was watching everything with wide-eyed intensity and more than a bit of trepidation. "What a pair…" she sighed; there was no mistaking the love mixed with frustration in her voice.

She repositioned herself so that she could see them both easily. "Okay, so these are the ground rules for the next few days. You are both going to bed right now –"

"You'll get no argument from me," Mike mumbled with a chuckle as he started to get up but she turned on him quickly, raising her right forefinger threateningly and pinning him to the recliner with a ferocious glare. Swallowing heavily, he sank back down onto the chair, unable to stifle a pain-filled moan as he did so.

She sighed softly and lowered her hand. "You are both going to bed right now," she repeated evenly, "and will remain in those beds for at least the next 36 hours. You will be allowed visits to the bathroom, of course, and to come down here for meals but the remainder of that time will be spent in bed. You can sleep, you can read, you can write the Great American novel, I don't care – but you will spend that time in bed. No arguments."

She looked from one to the other with raised eyebrows, ready to counter any number of objections, and was mildly surprised to receive only submissive nods, which worried her more than she let on. Their immediate compliance taking most of the wind out of her sails, she smiled gently as she moved closer to her father and held out her hand to help him to his feet.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he stood, the pain in his chest the worst it had been all day. He was too tired to try to mask it anymore, and he swayed slightly as black spots swam before his eyes. In a second, Steve was also at his side and he felt strong hands grab his upper arms. The dizziness passed quickly and he opened his eyes and smiled. "I'm okay…" Both pairs of eyes staring at him were skeptical. He tried a slight chuckle. "Honest… I'm okay… I'm just really tired, that's all…"

Steve stared at him evenly, then nodded. "Then let's go to bed," he finally said, taking a step back to let the older man precede him towards the stairs.

With Jeannie still holding his right hand, Mike slowly climbed the steps to the second floor, Steve following close behind. He bade his goodnights to his partner and Jeannie and disappeared into the bathroom. Mike turned to his daughter in the master bedroom doorway and smiled lovingly. "I can take it from here," he chuckled gently, pulling his hand out of hers and cupping her chin before he leaned forward to kiss her goodnight.

She beamed up at him, then reached up and took the fedora off his head. "I don't think you need to sleep with this on," she giggled and he grinned.

"No, I guess I don't."

As he started to turn away, she grabbed his arm to stop him and he looked back, frowning. She smiled at him with quiet pride. "You really caught him?" she asked simply.

He smiled then nodded almost shyly. "Yeah… yeah, we did. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, okay?"

She nodded, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in her throat. As he stepped deeper into his room, she reached out and grabbed the doorknob. "Sleep well, Daddy," she said softly and he turned to her and winked as she closed the door.

As she started back down to the first floor, she looked at the hat in her hand and her heart skipped a beat. Tears sprung suddenly to her eyes and she bit her lips to muffle the cry that tried to escape from the back of her throat. She sat on the bottom step and let the waves of emotion flow over her, softly caressing the grey felt hat that had come to mean as much to her as it did to her father.


	36. Chapter 36

After the door closed, he stepped to the bed but didn't sit. It was becoming increasingly difficult to take a deep breath from the pain in his chest. He reached into his jacket pocket and fingered the pill bottle; he hadn't taken one since they'd left the Carlyle kitchen and he was paying the price.

He waited until he heard Steve leave the bathroom and Jeannie's door close before he slowly made his way to the bathroom, returning a couple of minutes later with a Dixie cup of water. Clenching his teeth and holding his breath, he sat on the bed to swallow the pill. He knew it would take several minutes for it to even start to take effect,

Very slowly, hampered by his still useless left arm, he slipped his suit jacket off then undid the knot in his tie and pulled it off, tossing both on the nearby chair. He carefully kicked off his shoes and was reaching for the buttons on his shirt when the exhaustion overcame him and he stopped.

He got slowly to his feet, pulled the bedspread and sheet down, crossed to the door to turn the overhead light off then returned to the bed in the dark. He stacked the two pillows against the headboard and laid down, pulling the sheet over his legs and stomach.

He stared up into the dark, gritting his teeth against the ache, breathing in short, sharp gasps. His daughter was right, he thought, he sometimes didn't acknowledge his limitations. And as he got older, the bar for those limitations was getting lower and lower. He had to be more careful, he knew; there were other lives at stake besides his own.

His right hand crept across his chest and he pressed it lightly against his ribs, the support actually helping ease the discomfort while he waited for the medication to kick in.

He thoughts drifted back through the events of the day that had started so long ago. It really had turned out a lot better than he had anticipated, and he was more than grateful and relieved that his hunch had actually panned out. If truth be told, he did want to be the one to continue with the case, to see it through to its inevitable conclusion: Lonsdale locked away for the rest of his life, his parents spending time behind bars for aiding and abetting. But he also knew that his time, and his skills, were needed elsewhere, and that other equally qualified investigators and district attorneys would carry on in his stead. After all, he had an entire homicide bureau to run.

It was finally getting easier to breathe and his entire body began to relax. And as his mind began to slowly shut down, he tried to remember the things he wanted to tell his daughter, and the tasks he had yet to finish to finally put this whole sordid episode to rest for once and for all.

# # # # #

Steve had managed to change into his pajama bottoms and t-shirt before climbing between the sheets on Jeannie's bed. She had been right, he was in pain and he'd been trying for the past few days, successfully he thought, to unobtrusively swallow painkillers when he was sure his partner couldn't see. He knew Mike was too preoccupied with trying to pretend that he too was more physically able than he actually was, a foible they were both guilty of, he acknowledged grimly to himself.

And, secretly, he was grateful that Jeannie had insisted that he stay; he really didn't want to be home alone. This was one of the times he truly needed the unconditional acceptance he so often found in the warm embrace of his surrogate family.

As he lay in the bed, staring unseeing at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to finally carry him away, he thought back over the day. He had been working with Mike for almost four years now, and as many times as the veteran detective had surprised or impressed him in all that time, nothing compared to today. His body battered and bruised, his left arm useless, Mike had nevertheless been at the top of his game when he needed to be the most. It had been a masterful display of detection, intuition and determination.

He was still smiling softly to himself when he finally drifted off into a deep and much needed sleep.

# # # # #

His eyes opened slowly. He could see sunshine bleeding around the dark curtains and knew the sun had been up for hours. He turned his head to look at the endtable, then reached out and wrapped his fingers around his watch, pulling it close to his face. 9:43. He snorted softly; he hadn't slept in this late in a long time. He stretched slowly and carefully, mindful of his still aching ribs, then began to get himself together.

Ten minutes later, having foregone his usual morning shave and wearing one of Mike's old bathrobes over his pj bottoms and t-shirt, he padded barefoot down the stairs to the first floor, the welcoming aroma of coffee wafting out of the kitchen.

Jeannie, still in her pajamas and bathrobe, was curled up on a kitchen chair, a coffee cup near her elbow as she leaned over the table reading the morning paper. She looked up and grinned when he appeared in the doorway. "Well, good morning," she said brightly but not loudly. "You had a good sleep."

Looking uncharacteristically disheveled, but not really caring at the moment, Steve smiled. "Yeah, I did." He nodded towards the counter, running a hand across the back of his neck. "That smells great."

"Help yourself," she urged, getting up and crossing to take a cup out of the cupboard near the stove and putting it on the counter beside the percolator. "You want some breakfast?"

"Oh, yes, please," Steve mumbled as he stepped to the counter and picked up the percolator.

"Bacon and eggs?"

"That sounds amazing, thank you. Anything I can do to help?"

"Yes," she chuckled, "you can sit at the table and read the paper and stay out of my way."

He chuckled through a yawn, trying to wake himself up, as he poured his coffee, picking up the cup and crossing to sit at the table.

She was watching him out of the corner of her eye as she opened the fridge and took the bacon and egg carton out. She was relieved he looked appreciably better than the night before. "How are you feeling?"

He looked up as he sat and reached for the paper to turn it around. "A lot better, thank you… It really helped." He took a sip of his coffee.

"Well, don't forget, you promised to go back to bed after you eat, right? 36 hours…?" She was looking at him peripherally and saw him nod.

"As promised…" he chuckled, wrapping both hands around the cup. He looked at her. "Mike not up yet?" he asked, trying to mask the tinge of worry in his voice.

She broke two eggs into a large frying pan; she knew he liked his eggs scrambled, with a dash of paprika. "No, he's still sleeping." He looked at her, frowning, and she smiled as if reading his mind. "He's fine, I was in his room just before you came down." She chuckled affectionately. "He got as far as taking off his jacket, his tie and his shoes… he's still dressed."

Steve chuckled. "He's gonna love that."

She laughed. "I'll take his suit to the dry cleaners when he finally takes it off." She laid strips of bacon in the second frying pan. "Oh, ah, just so you know, pot roast for dinner. Mike hasn't had one since the last time I was here so I except you haven't either?"

"I have not, you're absolutely right." He looked at her and frowned. "When did you get a pot roast?"

She grinned. "I took advantage of the quiet house yesterday. I went grocery shopping with the… Monte Carlo," she chuckled. "I've gotta get use to saying that. I don't think we've every owned a Chev. We're Ford people."

"It's nice, isn't it?"

"It's gorgeous, and it handles so well."

"Yeah, ah," Steve said carefully, "I'd, ah, I'd keep that to myself for now, if I was you. Mike still hasn't been able to get behind the wheel. I think everyone's driven it but him…" He shrugged with a chuckle. "I mean I don't think he'll mind that you drove it, just that you got to drive it before him."

She joined in the companionable laugh.

"Hey, ah, how much longer till that's ready?" he asked, gesturing at the stove with his chin.

She shrugged. "Five, six minutes."

He stood up. "I'll be back before then." Taking his coffee cup, Steve got up and left the kitchen. He quietly climbed the stairs and opened the master bedroom door. In the sunlight streaming around the curtains, he could see his partner lying on his back in the bed, his right arm across his stomach. He took a couple of silent steps forward, his heart in his mouth, straining in the gloom of the unlit room to see the gentle rise and fall of the older man's chest.

He exhaled softly through his mouth, closing his eyes in relief of a worry he knew was totally groundless. Sipping his coffee, he stood there for a couple of minutes then quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

# # # # #

"I have to say it again, I love the way you make eggs."

Standing at the sink, running cold water over one of the frying pans, Jeannie glanced at him with raised eyebrows. "It's a little bit of butter, a pinch of salt and a dash of paprika. I think you're capable of doing that," she chuckled.

"Yeah, but when I do it, it doesn't taste the same." He shoveled the final forkful into his mouth then paused, freezing for a long beat, his head cocked. He glanced towards the sink. "I just heard a door close."

She smiled. "He's up." She wiped the frying pan quickly with the damp dishcloth then put it back on the burner. "Do me a favor and head him off at the pass. I want to serve him breakfast in bed."

Stuffing the last piece of bacon in his mouth, he picked up the dirty plate and put it on the counter. "I'll bring him a coffee," he said around the bacon, getting a mug out of the cupboard,

She had both the bacon and the eggs frying by the time he started up the stairs with the full cup of coffee.

# # # # #

He was sitting on the side of the bed when Mike stepped through the doorway and froze briefly, startled. The older man chuckled as he crossed to the bureau. "So, you are up… I couldn't tell. Jeannie's door is closed."

Steve held the cup out. "I've only been up about a half hour. How are you feeling?"

Mike opened the middle drawer of the large dresser and took out a clean pair of pajamas. "A little better. You?" He hadn't noticed the proffered cup.

"Me too. You going somewhere?" the younger man asked facetiously.

"What?" Mike turned to him, frowning, finally noticing the cup of coffee. He put the pajamas on top of the dresser and took the cup with a perfunctory, "Thanks."

Steve smirked. "You're wearing your suit. Are you going somewhere?"

Taking a sip, Mike glared at his partner through narrowed eyes. "Ha ha, smarty, you know very well I slept in my clothes last night."

Chuckling, Steve nodded. "Listen, ah, Jeannie wants to surprise you with breakfast in bed."

Mike's eyebrows rose. "Really? That's nice." He glanced over his shoulder towards the door. "Say, uh, how much time do you think I have?" he asked urgently.

Steve frowned. "How much time…?"

The older man stuck his hirsute chin out. "I want to surprise her. Can you give me a hand… literally?"


	37. Chapter 37

For about the tenth time, Jeannie looked up from her plate, trying to swallow a smile and chuckling to herself quietly before quickly letting her eyes drop again.

Mike's head came up slowly and he stared at the top of her head through narrowed eyes as he chewed, trying to scowl. "What?"

Stabbing a roast potato with her fork, she cleared her throat unnecessarily and looked up again. "I'm just glad you finally shaved it off," she grinned, glancing at Steve, who was studiously using his knife to slather a piece of roast with gravy.

Mike grunted. "Yeah, I gathered that… after the thirtieth time you've looked at me and laughed in the past five minutes." He was trying to sound annoyed but not doing a very good job at it. Both younger people snorted a laugh.

"But listen, ah," Mike continued, his tone turning serious, "I guess I was too tired to notice last night, but, ah, where are all the boxes we had in the living room? I don't remember seeing them last night… or just now, actually, when I walked through the living room…" He sounded more than a little puzzled, and concerned.

Jeannie looked at Steve and raised her eyebrows, trying not to smirk. "Wow, you guys must really've been out of it last night… Great detectives you are…" She chuckled then nodded over her shoulder. "They're still there. I put everything back in the boxes and stacked them against the wall beside the fireplace."

Now even Steve was looking at her peevishly. "It was kinda dark last night when we got home, if you remember correctly," he admonished, glancing at his partner and receiving an encouraging nod in return.

Jeannie made a face. "Well, it isn't dark now, and you've been walking back and forth through the living room all day. So what's your excuse?"

Steve pursed his lips, turning to Mike for help. The older man raised his eyebrows and chuckled. "I've only been through there once," Mike said pedantically, raising his fork in lieu of his index finger.

The younger man looked back at his plate and inhaled deeply. "I've had other things on my mind," he said quietly as he speared another piece of roast and dragged it through the gravy.

Both father and daughter chuckled softly and affectionately then Mike's eyebrows knit and he glared at Jeannie. "You put everything back in the boxes?" He had visions of all their hard work sorting the material into deliberate piles going up in smoke.

She looked at him almost priggishly. "Really, Mike, do you actually think I just dumped everything into boxes helter skelter? Give me some credit, please – I'm a cop's daughter, after all." She rolled her eyes. "I took one of those yellow legal pads you had and I tore sheets off it and put them between the separate piles…" She punctuated her statement with an 'I-told-you-so' face.

Mike stared at her without expression for a long second then smiled affectionately and looked at his partner, exhaling with relief. Steve laughed quietly, glancing at Jeannie and nodding.

Getting back to his dinner, Mike said matter-of-factly, "We'll separate those files again and I'll start calling the different departments –"

"Tomorrow," Jeannie interrupted him and he stopped talking and looked at her, frowning. "Tomorrow," she repeated firmly, glancing at Steve, who was also staring at her, his fork halfway to his mouth. "You both promised me you'd stay in bed for 36 hours, which means tomorrow morning… remember?"

After an immobile beat, they both nodded. Mike glanced at his partner before looking at his plate again, "Ah, tomorrow morning… And then we can get rid of all those boxes."

Satisfied, Jeannie returned to her meal. Then she heard her father's voice change tone.

"I, ah, I want to call Jerry too… tell him what happened… tell him –"

The phone rang. Mike looked at Steve, and Jeannie glanced at them both. "I'll get it," she said, getting up quickly and reaching for the phone on the wall. "Hello." She listened for a second. "Yes, Uncle Rudy, he's right here."

With a worried glance at his partner, Mike got up and started towards the door. "I'll take it in the living room," he said as he disappeared.

Jeannie waited till she heard him pick up the extension then hung up and returned to the table. She looked at Steve but neither said anything. They could hear the low murmur of Mike's voice but couldn't make out anything specific. After a couple of minutes he returned to the kitchen and sat, picking up his fork. A few seconds he looked at Steve.

"It seems the Siskiyou County District Attorney has relinquished jurisdiction over the Carlyle case… he's agreed to allow our D.A. to go after the Lonsdales for aiding and abetting. They've been arrested and they're in custody, and they're gonna be transferred down here tomorrow."

Steve was nodding slowly; this was not an unexpected development. "Do they want us…?" he began slowly and Mike shook his head.

"No, ah, no, Rudy's already talked to Gerry about that. Ferdon wants their own investigators to take it from here." He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "So, ah, once you and I are off the DL, we're back to our regular jobs…" He picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of roast beef, but he didn't pick it up. He stared at the plate blankly.

Steve looked at Jeannie and a soft smile of understanding crossed his lips. He knew his partner was struggling with conflicting emotions, wanting the chance to pursue the Lonsdale case to the bitter end yet knowing his time, talent and experience were needed elsewhere. "They've got good investigators in the D.A.s office," he offered quietly and the older man nodded.

"Yeah…" Mike let the fork drop onto the plate then sat back, smiling almost perfunctorily at his daughter. "That was great, sweetheart, but I've had enough." He started to push himself away from the table. "I think I'll just go back to bed."

Trying not to frown, Jeannie glanced at Steve. "Ah, what about dessert? I made an apple pie and I've got some vanilla ice cream."

On his feet, Mike smiled warmly. "Maybe later, okay?" He turned and shuffled out of the room.

Waiting until she heard her father climb the stairs, she was frowning when she turned her worried eyes on Steve. "I'm not sure if it's his health or just this case…" she said quietly with a helpless shrug.

Steve raised his eyebrows, putting his fork on his plate and sitting back. He sighed softly. "I think it's a bit of both. He's really been pushing himself since the accident, but this is a really important case to him…" He smiled slightly. "I've told you before that when we get a case that involves someone your age… especially a young woman… he had a tendency to take it personally."

She nodded knowingly, biting her bottom lip, her throat constricting.

His smile got a little wider and a little sadder. "And I think this was the first one, the first time he was involved with a case of a young person being murdered. And even though it was before you were even born, and he was just a newly-minted patrolman and his only real involvement was being one of the first on the scene, it obviously stayed with him all these years." He looked down, his eyes unfocusing. "I think I understand what that feels like, I really do…"

He looked up at her and smiled self-consciously. "I mean, I don't have any open cases that I think'll haunt me yet, but I still have a long way to go… so who knows?"

She snorted softly with a warm smile and put her hand over his on the table. "Well, here's hoping it doesn't happen to you… right?" Her gaze slid away and she stared into space for several long seconds. He watched and waited, knowing she was grappling with something. Eventually her eyes found their way back to him but her focus was far away and her voice was barely a whisper. "I understand what you're saying, I really do… but I think there's something else going on with Mike."

Steve cocked his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

Still preoccupied, she increased the pressure of her hand over his, slowly shaking her head. "I'm not sure… but there's something… I can feel it." Her focus suddenly sharpened on him. "Is there something you're not telling me, something that happened in the last couple of weeks that Mike didn't want me to know?"

She was still holding his hand, as if pinning him to the table, putting him on the spot. He stared at her for a couple of seconds then shook his head. "No, Jeannie, no… believe me…" He shrugged helplessly. "Ah, we may not have told you everything about the accident, but he's fine, we're both fine, you know that," he assured quickly, knowing she would pick up on it instantly.

And she did. The pressure of her hand over his increased noticeably. "What do you mean you didn't tell me everything about the accident?" she asked almost coldly, trying to control the fear in her voice.

He fidgeted, knowing he'd made a mistake and also knowing he had to correct it and correct it now. "Jeannie…" he began placatingly and she squeezed his hand so hard he jumped. "All right! All right…" He exhaled loudly and pointedly, meeting her eyes evenly. "Your father was unconscious for several hours after the accident. And I know we told you that he broke a few ribs… but we didn't tell you his lung collapsed and they had to put a chest tube in at the scene and then they gave him drugs to keep him out because the pain would've been too severe…" He sighed apologetically as her eyes continued to bore into him. He shook his head slightly. "That's all, I swear…"

Her grip on his hand relaxed and she almost smiled. "I'm not surprised," she said quietly and he frowned. She looked at him affectionately, knowing he was trying to shield her from the truth out of love and not guilt. "I've learned over the years that Mike only tells me what he wants me to hear and there's usually a lot more he never tells me. I'm okay with that. And he's home, he's going to be fine, I know that… so him not telling me what happened at the accident… well, I was kind of expecting that too…"

Confused, Steve shrugged a question and she shook her head. "It's not about the accident… it's something else. Something I can't put my finger on right now… but something's bothering him…" She smiled and squeezed his hand, lovingly this time. "Don't worry, I'll figure it out. Like I said, I'm not a cop's daughter for nothing you know…" With a soft laugh, she released his hand and stood, picking up a couple of dirty plates and starting for the counter.

He watched her with appreciative awe.

# # # # #

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in!"

It was pushed open then there was a beat before a beaming Jeannie came into the room with a tray. "Sorry, had to put this on the floor before I could open the door," she chuckled as she moved to the chair and put it down. She quickly closed the door then returned to the chair. "Dessert is served!" she announced with a giggle as she picked up a plate and fork and handed it to her father, who was sitting up on the bed, supported by the pillows piled against the headboard.

He looked at the steaming apple pie, with the rapidly melting scoop of vanilla ice cream, then back up at his daughter who, with her own plate in her hand, was settling down onto the bed beside him. He inhaled deeply, briefly closing his eyes. "This smells wonderful!" He put it on his lap and picked up the fork.

"It tastes wonderful," she crowed, cutting off a piece and popping it into her mouth.

He did the same, beaming.

Smiling, she watched him eat the first bite. When he started to cut off another piece, she asked quietly, "So what's going on, Mike?"

He froze slightly and looked at her from the corner of his eye. "What do you mean?" He was just about to bring the forkful of pie to his mouth when she put her hand on his forearm and stopped him. Her smile disappeared.

"What's going on, Daddy? Something's bothering you and it has nothing to do with the case." She stared at him without blinking. "I know you… and I know when you're hiding something from me. And it's more than just this case… I know it is…" She tightened her fingers around his forearm, feeling his muscles tighten.

He stared back for several long seconds, then he looked down and slowly put the fork on the plate. Eventually he said softly, "You're right… there is something." He looked at her sadly. "And it's something I should have told you a long time ago…"


	38. Chapter 38

Mike picked the plate of pie and ice cream off his lap and held it out. Jeannie, who had been staring at his face with a frown, glanced down at the plate then back up. His eyes flicked towards the tray on the chair and she knew what he wanted. Standing, she put her own plate on the tray then took his and did the same.

He moved over slightly on the bed, giving her more room, and she sat beside him. He raised his right arm and she snuggled in close to him; her heart was pounding.

They sat very still for a long time; she knew he trying to find the right words. Eventually she felt him take a deep breath and she knew he was ready to talk.

He squeezed her a little tighter. "You're right about it not being this case that's been bothering me… although it's been the trigger, so to speak." He took another deep breath. "You know your mother and I got married just after the war, right? In '46. And I was accepted into the police academy at the end of that year, November to be exact. We were both so happy." He turned his head and looked at her with a soft smile. "Did you know we lived with your grandmother, your Mom's mom, just after we got married?"

Jeannie nodded, smiling.

"Your Mom told you, right?" She nodded again. "Well, we wanted to get our own place so we started saving. I wasn't making much at the academy so your Mom got a job at City of Paris in the women's clothing department so we could start saving for a down payment." He stopped, chuckling softly. "But you know all that…" He fell silent for a few seconds.

"It took us a long time to save enough but we did. When I finally graduated and became a cop, we were making a little more money, but I was working shifts, mostly graveyard for those first few years and your Mom was still at the department store… it was hard for us to have a normal life… But your Mom, she wanted a home of our own so while I was at work, she'd scour the newspapers for ads for houses and she'd go out and look at places…" He smiled at the memory and she hugged him a little tighter.

"She found this place, you know," he said proudly, looking up at the ceiling and chuckling, "it wasn't me… Anyway, ah, the day we got the call to –" He paused and took a deep breath. He looked at his daughter and smiled then looked away again. "The day Gus and I answered the call on Turk… when we found Brigitte Larson's body…" He stopped again and took another deep breath, exhaling slowly. He stared straight ahead, not moving for several long seconds before he tilted his head back slightly and she could see him blinking quickly. She watched the muscles in his jaw clench and he swallowed heavily. "The day we found Brigitte Larson's body… your Mom was two months pregnant."

Jeannie froze, her eyes widening, her breath caught in her throat. Unconsciously she tried to swallow but couldn't and she couldn't hear anything but the blood pounding in her ears. Her father was staring somewhere in front of him; her eyes were glued to his profile.

Finally she found her voice. "She was pregnant…?" The words were little more than a whisper.

He nodded slowly.

Her fingers were digging into his forearm. "But…?"

Very slowly he turned his head and looked at her. "She miscarried two weeks later…" His tiny smile was heartbreakingly melancholic. "It wasn't because of what happened with the case, nothing like that… it just happened, the doctors said. It just wasn't meant to be, that's all…"

Her face started to crumble and she leaned into him even more, both her hands around his arm. "Oh, Daddy, I'm so sorry… I'm so, so sorry…" Tears started to stream down her cheeks, onto his flannel pajama top. He pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head.

"I know, honey, I know," he crooned, kissing her hair again, "I know…" He let his head drop back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling, blinking away his own tears.

# # # # #

They had sat side by side in the silence, their arms around each other, until the tears had long since dried up and their hearts had returned to their normal rhythms. Eventually she felt his head turn towards her and he kissed the top of her head again. She pulled away slightly and looked up at him. He was smiling with a warmth that almost stopped her heart.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly and she nodded, not trusting her voice. "Good," he acknowledged, his right arm tightening around her,

"You?" she managed to get out.

He nodded, still beaming. "I'm great."

She raised her right hand and laid it against his face as she lifted herself up to kiss him. Looking into his eyes, she stroked his cheek. "I'm so glad you shaved," she said with gentle chuckle, her eyes dancing, and she felt his right hand move as he started to tickle her. Giggling, she playfully pushed him away as she got to her feet. He watched her, chuckling, fatherly pride so evident in his eyes.

She looked at the chair and froze, her hands on her hips. "I, uh, I think our pie and ice cream is done for…" she said slowly and he followed her gaze.

"Yuck," he said with cartoonish disgust. "I think you're right."

She turned to him with a laugh. "How about I go get us another helping?"

"I think that's a great idea," he agreed with a grin.

She opened the door before picking up the tray and he watched as she stepped out into the hallway. His smile disappeared.

# # # # #

Steve was still sitting at the kitchen table when she reappeared. An empty pie plate and a half-full cup of coffee were on the table in front of him.

He looked up, frowning, as she moved past him to put the tray on the counter. She smiled at him reassuringly as she took the two plates of melted ice cream and soggy pie off the tray and put them in the sink.

"Is everything okay?" he asked hesitantly.

As she opened the cupboard and took out two dessert plates, she glanced over her shoulder, smiling enigmatically. "Everything's just fine." She pulled the apple pie closer and picked up the knife.

Staring at the back of her head, he tried to figure out what she meant. He knew that when his partner used the word 'fine', most of the time things really weren't; but he wasn't sure about Mike's daughter.

She looked over her shoulder. "You want another piece?"

Caught off-guard, he stuttered, "Oh, ah, well, ah…. yeah, sure. Thanks."

"No problem." She opened the top of the fridge and took the tub of ice cream out of the freezer then picked up his used plate, putting the fork on the table.

He watched as she prepared the three plates, not sure if he should pursue the subject any further. In many ways she was a lot like her father; if she wanted him to know what was going on, she would tell him.

She turned from the counter with a big smile, putting his plate on the table in front of him, then picked up the tray and disappeared out the door.

Frowning, he picked up his fork and cut off a piece of pie, barely noticing when he put it in his mouth.

# # # # #

"Okay, so… this is the pile for Don over in Missing Persons, right?" His hand on a thick stack of papers, Mike glanced at the younger man for confirmation. He was sitting on the couch beside his partner; there were piles of papers on every surface in the living room.

Steve glanced up from the yellow legal length pad on his knee, frowning slightly. "Ah, yeah…"

It was the second largest stack in the bunch; only Bunco was getting more.

The older man smiled. "You know," he chuckled, "this is gonna stand us in good stead for a long time… Almost every department is going to owe us and owe us big."

Steve laughed. "I hadn't thought of that, Lieutenant… well done."

"Oh, don't thank me," Mike shot back, a tinge of gravity in his voice, "thank Stanley Kovalev… He puts the con in conscience…" Keeping a straight face, he made a show of looking at the pile of papers on the arm of the sofa beside him.

Steve had done a double take and was now staring at his partner's profile, his mouth open. "What?" he asked, sounding overwhelmingly confused.

A smirk tugged at his partner's lips. "You heard me… I said he puts the con in –"

"Conscience… yeah, I heard you." He shook his head and snorted softly. "You're certifiably insane, you know that, right?"

Mike looked at him and smiled enigmatically. "One man's insanity is another man's genius…"

Steve stared at him with a closed mouth grin, his eyebrows raised, nodding knowingly. "Really?... You, ah, you come up with that on your own?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." The older man laughed suddenly and slapped his partner's knee. "We better get back to work, I think Jeannie wants her living room back."

Both of them chuckling softly, Steve pulled one of the empty boxes closer and they began to fill it. A companionable silence filled the room as they went about their respective tasks. Several minutes later the phone rang. Mike, who was closer, had to drop the file folders in his right hand in order to pick up the receiver, growling in mild frustration the entire time.

"Hello?"

Steve watched as his partner listened, offering the occasional single syllable confirmation, his demeanor getting progressively darker.

"Yeah, thanks, Rudy, I appreciate it." He hung up the receiver then just stood there, staring into space for several long seconds.

"Anything wrong?" Steve asked softly and he saw the older man start slightly, as if he was suddenly reminded that he wasn't alone.

Mike turned to him, frowning. "Oh, ah, no…" He smiled to himself, looking down and shaking his head slightly. "Ah, that was Rudy. They have the Lonsdales in custody here now, and they've asked us for all the stuff we put together over the past couple of weeks." He looked up and met the younger man's eyes. "He's gonna send Bill around later today after I give him a call to come get it… But, ah, but there's not going to be a trial, at least not for Jeffrey Lonsdale…" He shrugged.

Steve frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked, suddenly alarmed.

Mike raised his right hand and smiled, shaking his head. "No, no, nothing like that," he assured quickly, knowing the thoughts that were going through his partner's mind. "No, ah, he pled guilty at his arraignment this morning…"

"He did what?"

Mike tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "He pled guilty… to everything. The kidnapping, the murder, the flights from prosecution," he shrugged and snorted, "both of them… even to stealing my gun – which they found in his parents house, by the way. They delivered it with the parents this morning. Rudy has it." He shrugged again, like he was at a loss for words.

Steve had slumped back on the couch, staring unfocused in front of him. He was just as stunned as his partner. "Did Rudy say why?"

Mike shook his head slowly. "No… nobody knows right now, he said… but he thinks Gerry might have made him an offer… you know, maybe take the death penalty off the table…?" He shrugged again.

After a silent second, Steve sighed loudly. "I was not expecting that."

Mike snorted dryly, still staring into space. "I don't think anybody was…" Suddenly he started, straightening up briefly before bending to open the drawer in the small table under the phone. He took a small piece of paper out, laid it on the table, then picked up the receiver, stuffing it between his ear and shoulder so he could dial.

Steve watched with a slight frown.

Mike straightened up, listening. "Yeah, Jerry?... Yeah, it's Mike… Yeah, I know, but a lot of things happened I have to tall you about. Listen, ah, are you free tomorrow?"


	39. Chapter 39

**Thank you everyone, readers and reviewers, who came along for the ride. I am so proud that these characters still resonate with people, even so many years after the show left the airways.**

**It gives me hope...**

The dark blue Chrysler New Yorker came slowly into view, pulling onto the gravel shoulder of the narrow asphalt road and stopping. The engine was turned off and the driver's side door opened.

Steve, in the front seat of the hunter green Monte Carlo, watched as his partner, who had been waiting on a nearby grey marble bench, slowly stood up. The older man was wearing his dark gray suit and fedora, looking very much like Mike Stone the detective; he had insisted on leaving the sling in the car, ignoring his partner's protestations. Bending over carefully, he picked up the large bouquet of red roses before crossing slowly to the New Yorker.

Jerry Renneker had emerged slowly from the Chrysler and met Mike at the driver's door. Even from a distance Steve could see the broad smiles that preceded the handshake that quickly turned into a brief one-armed hug. Renneker opened the back door, leaned in and emerged with a large bouquet of white carnations.

Steve watched as the two men, Renneker leaning heavily on his cane, crossed slowly towards two small identical headstones. They stood there for several very long minutes, sometimes talking, sometimes not. At one point they both bowed their heads and Steve could see their lips moving slightly; both men crossed themselves.

Moving closer to the monuments, Mike removed two of the long-stemmed red roses from the bouquet in his hand and laid them gently in front of one of the headstones; he placed the remainder of the bouquet in front of the other then he stepped back. Balancing on his cane, Renneker did the same with the carnations.

They stood before the headstones for a very long time.

# # # # #

Standing on the narrow shoulder of the cemetery road, Steve turned to look at the man beside him, who was watching the New Yorker slowly crawl up the gravel drive. Even after the big sedan was gone from sight, the older man didn't move.

He opened his mouth to say his partner's name, to get his attention, then thought better of it and checked himself. But he knew if he didn't do it now, the perfect opportunity may never present itself again.

"Mike…" Steve said softly; there was no response. He repeated the name a little louder and watched the fedora-clad head go back slightly and the frowning blue eyes turn in his direction. He waited a beat then asked quietly. "What's going on?"

The frown got a little deeper. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what's going on. You're not yourself, and you haven't been in days. And I have no idea what you talked to Jeannie about last night, but I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with what's going on."

Mike's frown turned into a self-conscious smile and he dropped his head briefly before meeting the concerned green eyes again. He shook his head slightly. "There's nothing wrong," he said simply as he took a step towards the car.

"Bullshit!" Steve blurted as his hand shot out and grabbed the older man's suitcoat sleeve, pulling him to an abrupt stop. Staring defiantly into the now almost angry blue eyes, he said firmly, "That's bullshit and you know it. And I'm not going to let you just walk away telling me I'm wrong."

The muscles in Mike's jaw clenched as they faced off, neither one intending on backing down. Then, uncharacteristically, the older man suddenly closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. Steve let go of his sleeve then nodded to his right. "Look, ah, why don't we sit down," he suggested softly, indicating the marble bench several yards away.

Looking down, Mike nodded silently and led them towards the bench. He winced slightly as he sat, his shoulder starting to ache but vowing not to give in, not to show his partner any discomfort.

They sat in silence for a couple of longs beats, Steve's eyes roaming over the immaculate green lawns of the well-kept cemetery. Mike was staring straight ahead, unfocused. Eventually Steve turned his head, looking at his partner peripherally. He heard Mike inhale deeply.

"I don't think I can do this anymore, Steve." There was a tone of defeat in the older man's voice that he'd never heard before, and his heart skipped a beat.

"What are you talking about? You're nuts," Steve began, trying to keep the tone light. "You just proved… just a couple of days ago… that you're more than capable of still doing this job." He nodded towards the headstones. "You closed the book on a vey sad, very cold case. You wrote the final chapter in Brigitte Larson's story, and you should be proud of that." Mike had started to shake his head but Steve plowed on. "Hell, you aren't even close to being a hundred percent and you still –"

"I don't mean physically," Mike cut him off, turning his frustrated eyes on his young partner. He took a quick breath and regrouped. "I'm not talking about doing the job physically, I mean mentally…" He paused momentarily, as if he had surprised even himself. "I'm tired, Steve… I'm just tired." He sighed deeply, from the pit of his soul it seemed. "I'm tired of all the cruelty and the sorrow and the pain and the unbearable loss…" He closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still, taking deep, slow breaths.

Steve watched him silently, knowing there was more to come.

Eventually the blue eyes opened, staring straight ahead. "When I landed this job almost thirty years ago, I started out like everybody does… I was gonna make the world a better place, a safer place… for my family, my friends… for everyone… And I felt like I was doing that, that I was putting the bad guys away where they belonged, and it felt good… It still does…" He paused, slumping slightly; he winced, his right hand going to his left ribs, then cradling his left arm to take the strain off his shoulder.

Steve watched him carefully, debating whether he should sprint to the car and get the sling but not wanting to interrupt what he knew was the crux of his partner's deep and unexpected melancholia.

Mike took a careful heavy breath and let it out slowly. "You know, you'd think that after almost thirty years, you'd get used to it… the cruelty, the violence, the unbelievable grief… the total disregard for human life…" He shook his head slowly, staring into space. "But you don't… you really don't… And it's getting worse, I can feel it." He shrugged to himself. "I might be wrong about that… but it sure feels to me like it's getting worse… But maybe it's just me." He exhaled heavily. "And I don't know if I can do it anymore… if I can make a difference… not anymore…"

Steve let the silence that followed his partner's disturbing revelation linger for several long seconds, then he asked simply, "So you're just going to give up? You're going to quit?"

As he had hoped, angry blue eyes snapped in his direction. He met them evenly and anything that Mike was about to say died in his throat. They stared at each other for several long beats, neither moving, then Mike looked away, tilting his head back and blinking quickly. He exhaled forcefully and loudly.

With a slight, sad smile, Steve laid his hand on his partner's back, hoping to say more with the light touch that he could put into words. Mike lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut; his breaths became ragged and shallow. They sat that way for several long minutes.

Eventually Mike sat up a little straighter and took a long deep breath. "I don't know what I want to do… I've never felt this way before… and I don't know what to do…" he whispered, and he felt Steve's hand slide up his back to firmly grip his shoulder.

"Well," the younger man started slowly, "I might be way out in left field here but… I think you need to take a break."

Mike turned his head slowly and looked at him sideways. He snorted mirthlessly. "What? You mean take a vacation?" He sounded dismissive.

"I mean," Steve continued, not taking the bait, "taking a step back, to think about things. Don't make a rash decision quickly, that's all I'm saying…" He stared at his partner with a heartbreaking sadness then he smiled. "Mike, when was the last time you took some time off? And I don't mean a day to spend with Jeannie when she's home from school. I mean a real break."

Mike stared at him uncertainly. He frowned slightly then shook his head with a tiny shrug. "I don't remember –"

"I do," his partner cut him off. "Two years ago, when you went fishing. A week, two years ago. In the four years we've been together, that's the only time you've taken off. I've had way more time off than you have."

After a couple of silent seconds, Mike dropped his head. Steve smiled to himself and patted his shoulder. "You're not a machine, Mike, nobody is. You need to take a break… even if it's only once every three or four years," he finished with a gentle chuckle, not in the least surprise when the blue eyes turned to him once more in anger, which quickly dissipated. The older man snorted a short laugh then dropped his head and ran his right hand over his eyes. He looked tired and drained.

Steve rubbed his back again. "Look, ah, why don't we start for home?"

With a tiny affectionate smile, Mike nodded. He turned to look out over the green expanse of the well-kept cemetery. He sighed sadly. "It's a beautiful place, isn't it?"

"It sure is." Steve looked around, enjoying the spell of the moment. "Helen's buried here, isn't she?" he asked quietly.

Still smiling, Mike nodded. "Umh-humh." He pointed to their right. "Over there, beyond those bushes." He felt Steve's hand tighten on his shoulder.

"I think you should go and talk to her for a few minutes… don't you?"

Mike squeezed his eyes shut, and Steve could see the moisture trying to escape through the lids; his grip on his partner's shoulder got even tighter. Breathing raggedly, Mike nodded.

"You okay to make it there on your own?"

The older man turned to him and smiled. "Yeah… thanks. I'll be okay."

"Okay. I'll wait here… take your time…"

Without looking back, Mike got unsteadily to his feet and started slowly away. Steve watched him go, a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

# # # # #

Steve looked across the front seat. Mike was slumped, his head against the rest, the fedora low over his closed eyes. The left sleeve of his suitcoat was empty, his arm back in the sling.

They hadn't exchanged a word since the Monte Carlo had left the cemetery, both of them lost in their own thoughts. They were driving against traffic and it didn't take long to get to Potrero Hill and luckily there was a parking space right opposite the house.

When the engine shut down, Mike lifted his head. Steve looked over as he took the key out of the ignition. Mike met his eyes with a soft smile. "I've, ah, I've been thinking about what you said…" he began quietly. Steve didn't move. "And I think you might be right." Steve swallowed heavily. Mike snorted softly with a wry smile. "Hell, it's, ah, it's worth a shot anyway… right?"

With a soft smile of his own, the younger man nodded. "It couldn't hurt…"

"Yeah…"

# # # # #

Water. As far as the eye could see…water.

"Oh my god, I am so going to do that!"

Jeannie's delighted squeal assaulted his ears and he managed to smile before he turned to see her nose buried in the in-flight magazine. She pointed to a picture of a young blond girl on a surfboard, her eyes bright with joy when she glanced up at her father. "Do you think I can do that?"

"Well, you _can _do it, of course, but whether you're _able_ to do it is a totally different matter…" he answered with a twinkle in his eye.

She pulled a face at him. "Ha ha, you know what I mean…" She looked back at the picture. "Oh, that is going to be so cool." She looked up at him again. "You are not getting on a surfboard, whether you want to or not. Not with your arm still in a sling…" She punctuated her statement with one curt nod. "You're going to lie on one of those beach chair lounge thingys and read or tan or whatever it is you like to do on a beach. Me? I'm gonna surf."

Mike laughed, reaching out and dropping his right arm over her shoulders and pulling her as close as he was able. "All right, you do that."

Her attention returned to the magazine and he brought his arm back, turning to look out the small window again. 'I'm finally going to Hawaii,' he mused, but there was no excitement in the reality. There was a lot he had to think about in the next ten days, he knew.

And he had no idea how it would all end.


End file.
